Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night!
by Saddened Soul
Summary: Months have passed since Heather closed the book on her whimsical adventures, prepared to live a normal, mundane life. Too bad the game's the game, and blood is blood. [The long-awaited, highly anticipated sequel to The Whimsical Adventures of Princess Heart! : D]
1. Princess Heart Returns!

Curtis Ackers sighed.

He sat in his beaten, rundown truck, cold beer in hand, splotched shirt stuck to his gut, sweat-encrusted cap glued to his head. The truck was on the edge of Toluca Lake, the wheels digging into the dirt. He watched the gentle lapping of the green water, swigged from his beer, then spat it out the window.

For days he'd been back in the shithole that was Silent Hill. He'd grown up there, had lived there his entire life, but this was the first time he'd come back ever since the fog had arisen and the people had gone. Incredibly, the town was fine now, unchanged, empty as it was. The events from several months before seemed almost a memory—gone were the destroyed streets and ruined storefronts; gone was the enormous tower at its center; gone was the omnipresent fog. Now there was only a quaint, almost disquieting peace. There was only the gray light of the sun. Only the sound of the wind and the water.

It filled him with unrest, with nervousness. He didn't like it here, even if it was supposedly purified, even if the demonic presence was gone. Things like that, they left stains. Imprints. You never got too far away from them, could never escape them. They lingered. They bled into the ground, worked their way to the roots, to the very bones. Silent Hill was saved? Silent Hill was no longer the most evil fucking place he'd ever been? No—Silent Hill was still just as corrupt, still just as damaged. The stem had been cut, but it hadn't been pulled. It would grow back.

His cell phone rang. He clutched his can of beer tightly, almost tempted to not answer—but he did. He had to.

"Yeah?"

"Curtis. Did you enjoy your visit?"

"Sure," he said. "Yeah, sure. It's a real peach being here again."

"Of course. Come back. It's time."

Curtis said nothing for a moment, still watching the water, and then he spoke. "You sure about this?" he asked. "I mean, really sure? There's no going back. We open that thing up, what happened last time'll be like a joke. It won't even compare."

Margaret Holloway laughed on the other end. "Are you afraid?"

"No, ma'am. I—"

"It's alright, Curtis. It's alright." Holloway smiled, sitting in the dark of her office, the triangular prism resting in her lap glowing red and orange. "The truth is, you should be afraid. Fear will keep you alive."

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 01: A New Threat Emerges! Princess Heart Returns!**

Heather stood alone in a grassy field. The sky was a deep blue, spotted with clouds. There was a single tree, tall with a wide canopy, its branches rustling in the wind. She closed her eyes, felt the same wind on her face, felt it run through her hair. She spread her arms out, extended her fingers.

_This is a place of death—but you're not dead. You have a bright future, Heather._

She turned, hearing something on the breeze. "Alessa?" She waited, listening, and then something else passed by, some other lingering memory, some other missing piece.

_But you have to go back. You belong in the world of the living, with everyone else._

Tears stung her cheeks. "Dad?" She tried to follow the voice, but it was gone, far off in the distance, lost. "Daddy—"

_It's okay, Cheryl. We'll always be here. Always._

"In my heart," she said, raising a hand to her chest.

And then she woke up.

* * *

The window by her bed was already full of white light; she glanced over at the clock, saw it was 10:13. Fuck, she thought, lying back, staring at the dark, cracked ceiling. Work in an hour.

The dream she had was already fading, already becoming fragmented and senseless. She recalled a breeze, a feeling of wind, but that was it. Only one constant—her father's voice, calling to her, telling her it would be all right. Her sister, reassuring her, pushing her to go on.

She got up, the wooden floorboards of the tiny apartment creaking under her bare feet. Her side of the bedroom was sparse, with just a small shelf with some trinkets and books atop it. She reached over, touched the dusty pocket mirror gleaming in the light. It was cold, but she could sense the latent power within it simmering, bubbling. She yawned, walked over to the restroom across the hall, looked in the mirror. Her hair, still its natural brown, had grown in the months since she had moved here. Her eyes had gotten darker. She had lost some weight. She felt more tired lately, more sluggish. Emptier. Less whole.

She splashed some water on her face, slapped on some cleanser.

In the kitchen, the sounds of the street below were more apparent—traffic, laughter. She rummaged through the cabinets, grimaced. "No Trix?" she murmured, pushing aside a bag of chips, a half-empty jar of peanut butter. There was the box of Lucky Charms—she shook it, heard nothing.

"Great. No breakfast for me, then."

She was halfway to the coffee machine, the pot already long cold, when the door to the apartment opened, letting in a draft. Heather turned, squinting from the glare of the window. "That you, Claudia?"

"Yes, it's me." Claudia walked inside, bundled in a large black overcoat, a beret on her head. She had replaced her glasses with contacts, letting her blue eyes shine. "You just woke up?"

"Yeah." Heather grunted. "No cereal, though."

Claudia smirked, set down a paper bag on the small kitchen table. "I got your Lucky Charms, some more chocolate syrup, some microwave dinners—enough to get us by for the week."

"Claudia, when was the last time I told you I love you?"

"Tuesday. Hey, Heather, listen." She watched as the other girl dipped into the bag and pulled out the box of Lucky Charms. "There's still time for you to register for the fall semester. Really, we can get a loan, something without interest."

Heather popped open the box, poured some cereal into a bowl. "I don't know, Claudia. We're barely getting by as it is." She pointed to the refrigerator. "Can you get me some milk?"

Claudia reached in, handed over the carton. "I'm just saying we can do it. At least you'd have a goal—not just working at Happy Burger almost every day of the week." She sighed. "No offense."

"None taken." Heather plopped some cereal into her mouth, chewed it thoughtfully. "Honestly, Clau, I don't even know what I want to do. Eileen's going off to USM, you're working at a library, taking classes—and I'm working at Happy Burger. What the fuck happened, you know? I was happier when there were demons to kill and shit to blow up. I can't believe I actually miss saying 'Heather beam,' holy shit."

She saw Claudia's face tighten, saw the pain cloud her eyes. "Hey, sorry," she said. "Sometimes I just blabber. You know."

"It's alright," Claudia said. "It happened." She mustered a smile. "Well, I'm going to get ready for class. You probably need to clean up. When does your shift start?"

"Like an hour. No big deal."

"Okay." Claudia headed for the hallway. "Can you put away the groceries, too?"

"Yeah."

Heather heard her go down the hall to the bedroom. She grinned dryly. College? Work? Rent? What the fuck did it matter? There was shit going on out there, she knew that much—things she could stop, things she could fix, things she could make better. But then there was always stuff to stop, always stuff to fix, always stuff to make better. And there were always more bills to pay, more food to buy, more hours to sleep. It never stopped, never eased up. At least not until you were dead.

She gulped down the rest of her cereal and threw the bowl into the sink. Hey, at least Eileen had a boyfriend—even if he was a giant pussy that was too afraid of a little sex. She thought of him, smiled. Henry Townshend. If he cleaned up a little, Eileen was right—he _was_ kind of cute.

* * *

"Man, Portland's ass."

Henry looked out at the street from the passenger seat of the car, camera in his lap, fountain drink in his hand. He sipped noisily from the straw, scowling, bangs in his face. They were parked at a gas station, the windows down, luggage crowding the back seat. It was a nice day—shining sun, blue sky, birds chirping, people walking and talking.

"Jesus," he said. "Don't they have a fucking place to go? Things to do? Why are they all just _walking_?"

James was in the driver's seat, serene as usual, a plain gray t-shirt on, his jacket over his lap. "Come on, Henry," he said. "It's nice. Did you know Portland has the most restaurants of any city in the U.S.?"

"Shut the fuck up, James," Henry said. "I know you saw that shit on Wikipedia because I did, too. Look, just agree with me that this place's ass and let's not spend an hour fucking discussing it."

"Henry, you have to give me reasons why you think it's ass. It's nice, clean, colorful. The people have been really polite so far, too."

"I hate nice people, James, or at least the ones that just pretend to be so nice. There's people that are pissed, that are angry, that are depressed, that are sad, but there aren't many really, genuine nice people around." Henry shrunk in his seat, sipped from his drink again. "It's just hiding what's really under the surface. Trying to ignore it."

"You have to admit it's better than Ashfield, though," James said.

"My great-grandmother's left ass cheek is better than Ashfield," said Henry, "and she's dead. They may as well just call it Assfield. Always gray. Always windy or rainy. Why's this place so much sunnier? It's all the same shit. It's all Maine."

"If this place is ass," James said, "and Ashfield's even worse, then what about Silent Hill?"

Henry stared ahead, grim eyes kept on the window of the convenience store. "Silent Hill is like the devil literally took a shit and called it a town. Then it grew fungus, started to stink, and started spreading goddamn cholera. It's a fucking abomination, James. That godforsaken piece of shit can suck my dick. What a nightmare."

He turned, looked at James. "Do I need to say more?"

James smiled, shook his head. "No. No, you really don't. I don't think I could have said it better myself."

"Great. That's settled. Now, anyway, Portland's ass, and I'm not budging on that." Henry groaned. "Now if Eileen would just _hurry the hell up_, we can get out of here. How long does it take a woman to take a piss? Seriously."

As if on cue, the door to the convenience store swung open. Eileen walked out, green eyes sparkling, shoulder-length brown hair swaying, bangs clipped back, smile radiating. She was in a pink plaid blouse and torn jeans, her old white and pink sneakers starting to show their age. A plastic bag full of snacks and drinks bounced off her leg.

Henry poked his head out the window, peering at her. "What the hell'd you buy, woman? I thought you were taking a piss."

"Sorry," she said. "Just couldn't help myself. So many goodies!" She laughed. "Aww, Henry-poo! Smile! Remember, no frowning! Right, James?"

"That's right," James said. "Henry's just being a big ol' sourpuss."

"What's new?" Eileen said, stopping by the window.

"Wahh wah wah," Henry moaned. "Just get in the car."

"Excuse me? I don't take orders for you, mister."

"I—sorry." Henry gave her a genuine look. "Can you please get in the car, Eileen?"

"Of course, Henry. Of course I'll get in the car." She pecked his cheek, then climbed into the backseat. "So, we're all gassed up, we're all ready. James, you want these Twizzlers?"

"I'll take some, sure. Just put them in the cup holder."

"Cool. Henry, you want something?"

"Nah. I'm good."

"Alright-y." Eileen tore open a packet of crackers. "Okay," she said, chewing through a mouthful of peanut butter and mush. "On to Henry's cousin's house!"

"We're pretty close," said James. "Maybe ten more minutes to get there."

"Sick." They hit a small bump in the street, and Eileen dropped one of her crackers. "Oops. Alex is gonna be pissed when he sees what happened to his car after we get back, lol."

"Chew with your mouth closed, please," Henry said, looking at her through the rearview mirror. "And stop bouncing around. What the fuck are you, ADD?"

"I'm just excited, Henry! Your family's my family, remember?"

"You haven't put a ring on it yet," he said.

"Aww, it's just a matter of time!" Eileen hugged his chair from behind and planted a big kiss on his head. "And it's gonna be so much fun at the orientation! We're gonna meet people, do stuff, eat lots of good food—I can't wait!"

"Jesus, Eileen! Put your goddamn seatbelt on! If we crash and you die, it's your fucking fault!"

She squealed and giggled. "Aww, look, James! Henry-poo's worried about me!"

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about the fucking hassle it's going to be putting you in the ground! And explaining that shit to your parents, too!"

They bantered, Eileen laughing, Henry growling. James glanced at them, unable to contain his smile. His friends. He was lucky, he thought. Just damn lucky.

* * *

They stopped outside a modest one-story house in a nearby suburb. It was white and modern, with large, tinted windows in the front. There was a small lawn, green and yellow; there was a big oak tree in the yard, and, in the driveway, were a red minivan and a sleeker, smaller blue car. Eileen's head was already out of the window, her mouth agape.

"That is one badass house," she said. "Henry! We gotta get ourselves one like that!"

"Just chill," Henry said. "Listen, you guys. Tina can be kind of uppity and shit. Just don't get into any arguments with her. You think I'm stubborn—fuck, she'll show you stubborn."

"Cut from the same cloth," said James. "Come on, let's get our bags."

They got out, started gathering their luggage. Henry took out Eileen's couple of bags, both of them surprisingly light. "Eileen," he said, "please tell me you packed extra underwear and clothes. I mean, shit, you've been wearing that same shirt for the past couple of days."

Eileen smiled slyly as she took the bags, winked. "Who says I'm even wearing underwear?"

As she walked to the house, James came up beside Henry. "You're blushing, Henry," he said with a laugh. Henry grunted.

"I'm not touching that shit, is all I'm saying."

At the door, Henry rang the doorbell. "Anything else we should know?" James asked.

"Nah. Tina's otherwise pretty cool. So is Eric. Don't think they have any kids yet."

The door opened a moment later. On the other side was a woman in her late twenties, in a green blouse and jeans, with short brown hair and brown eyes. "Henry," she said. "Looks like you made it."

"Looks like," he said. "Hey, Tina."

"Hey, yourself," she said, embracing him. "God, how long's it been? At least a year or two? How have your parents been?"

"Eh, they're okay. Will's still got a stick up his ass, but he's getting over it."

Tina shook her head, but her smile remained. "And these are your friends? James and Eileen, right?"

"James Sunderland," James said. "I think we've met before, at one of Henry's birthdays? It's been a long time, though."

"Hey, you're probably right. And you're Eileen?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Eileen saluted. "And in case Henry didn't tell you, I'm his _girl_friend!"

Tina laughed. "I think he mentioned that, don't worry. Come on inside—I'll show you your rooms, and you can meet Eric."

They went in. The house was sparsely but nicely furnished—some skyline prints on the walls, some skylights, white carpet in the den. "These are some sick digs," Eileen said, admiring the kitchen. She ran a hand over the glossy countertop. "Really sick."

"We got it for a good deal," Tina said. "We had to renovate some things, so there went a couple of months' salary. Here, the rooms are just back here."

They went down another hall, with two bedrooms on either side. "One room for you two," she said, glancing at Henry and Eileen, "and one room for James."

"Doesn't look like you renovated this one," Henry said, looking in. "There's still a fucking Crayola fan in here."

"Hey, it's a room, isn't it? Anyway, get settled. I'll get Eric."

She left back down the hall. "A fucking Crayola fan," Henry said. "Look, it's even got different fucking colors."

"Somehow I think you'll live," James said, going into his room. Eileen bounded into theirs and opened the blinds, letting in a stream of sunlight.

"Look at that, Henry," she said, staring out at the lawn, at the neighborhood. "It's so peaceful. Man, I could die here." She flopped down on the bed, the blue walls around her comforting, the Crayola fan slowly spinning. "I really could."

Henry watched her for a moment, then put his own suitcase down and sat on the edge of the bed. "We're just gonna be here a few days," he said. "When orientation's over, we're going back."

"I know." She sat up, brushed some hair back behind her right ear. "But when the semester starts, we could stay here. With your cousins. It'd be nice. You know they're thinking about it."

"Maybe." Henry placed a tentative hand on her leg, caressed it. "We'll see. I don't want to make you any promises."

"None that you can't keep," she said, smiling, and he nodded.

"Right."

They stayed like that for a minute, listening to the sounds outside, caught in the light from the window. Then a voice came to them from the doorway. "Henry. You're here."

Henry turned, saw a man at the door, in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, like Tina. He was tall, with short brown hair and a disarming, collected smile. "Eric," Henry said, standing and shaking his hand. "Long time no see."

"Yeah, it's been a while. Sorry we missed the graduation. It's been busy around here."

"Nah, who gives a shit. They had to drag me to that fucking thing."

Eric chuckled. "I bet. And you're Eileen?" He extended his hand to the girl.

"Yes, sir!" she said, taking it. "I'm gonna whip Henry into shape, don't you worry! I'm trying to get him to get a haircut every month, but he's really fighting me on it."

"That'll work itself out," Eric said. "Believe me. Marriage does that to you."

"Yeah, yeah," Henry said. "So, Eric, you done any good work lately?"

"Like I said, it's been busy. Here, I'll show you."

He led them to an office, bigger and more spacious than the other rooms, where two computers were set against the wall, adjacent to a drafting board. James had followed them, and he let out an impressed chuckle. "This is great, Eric," he said. "You do a lot of your work here?"

"It took some doing," Eric said. "Most of my stuff is still at the office, but I manage to get some work done here when I have time off. Right now I've got to finish a draft of a new house. We've been developing a new suburb on the east side of town—they're looking for a more modern design, so I've been toying around with that."

Eileen stepped inside and admired the sketches adorning the walls. "These are really good. Eric, maybe you can design our house!"

"Let's not get too excited," Henry said. "It's cool, though, Eric."

"And you, Henry? Any new pictures you want to show off?"

"I'll show you later," Henry said. "I've been taking a lot, though. This new camera's been pretty good to me."

"He never puts it down," said James.

"James is just jealous. He doesn't have a hobby, see."

"Right," said Eric, looking at the three teens. The light coming in through the windows of the office was stronger, more vibrant, more alive.

* * *

Dinner that evening was nice. Tina made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, a "supper for champions," as Eileen put it. They all sat around the dining table, the stereo in the background playing quietly, the light of the small chandelier above them soft and gentle. There were jokes, laughter. A bottle of red wine passed between them. Glasses filled and emptied. Henry sent his camera around, the bright little screen showing small portraits of the sky, of trees, of the road stretching onwards, of James driving, his hair in his face, of Eileen leaning back in her seat, eyes out the window, of Eileen sleeping, a smile on her face.

That night, Henry lay on the small bed in his room, the lights on, looking up at the Crayola fan. "Fucking Crayola fan," he said, unable to hold back the laugh. "Fuck is it stupid."

He sighed, closed his eyes. It was nice, though he'd never admit it. Something about this trip—going along with James and Eileen, seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, however short it really was—something about it was getting to him, working its way inside. His chest felt heavy suddenly, weighted, filled with something he couldn't describe. He rubbed it absently.

Eileen came in, dressed in a t-shirt and short shorts, rubbing a towel through her wet hair. "Damn do they have a kick-ass shower," she said, slinging the towel around her neck. "It feels great to clean up, though. I've been really sweaty." She paused. "Henry? You okay, babe?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"I don't know. Stuff. Things. Fuck, Eileen. It's just flying by."

"It's not flying by," she said. "It's here, Henry. It's in us. Every second of it."

She suddenly smiled, flipped off the lights, and threw herself on him. "Let me do something for you," she said, sliding a hand through his hair. "You know all you have to do is ask. Anything, Henry."

"Eileen." He looked at her, throat thick. "It's not—it's not that I don't want to."

"I know, Henry. It's okay." She caressed his cheek, kissed his brow. "In your own time, babe." She snickered. "But you know I masturbate to you daily, right?"

"Eileen." He said her name again, harder this time, firmer. She registered the change in tone immediately; her goofy smile fell; her gaze met his. He studied her, looked into her green eyes, ran a finger down her cheek. "You know," he said, "it wasn't too long ago that I just—I was just so angry, so fucking angry at everything. I woke up every morning just pissed out of my mind. I didn't know why. It was like, fuck this place, you know? Fuck it. There didn't seem to be a point."

She listened to him, said nothing. He took her hand. "Then all that shit with Mason happened, and I met you, and James and Alex and Elle and—fuck, we saved the world. No one knows we did it. No one knows who the fuck Princess Heart is. No one knows how much we lost, how fucking hard it was. But ever since then, every morning, I don't—I don't feel angry anymore. I'm not mad. I just look at you, at James when he's with Mary—I look at my mom, I even look at my dad, I take my pictures—and it's like, like there's this feeling. I don't know what it is, either, but it's the total opposite. It's just—it's too much sometimes. Like right now."

Eileen smiled, she beamed. "I know," she said. "I feel it, too. I feel it all the time."

Henry struggled to speak. His face scrunched up, broke. "You feel it, too? Right now?"

"Yep."

"What is it?"

"It's love, Henry," she said, stroking his temple. "It's all the love in the world."

Henry couldn't breathe—his chest was swollen, overflowing with this feeling. He shut his eyes, felt them build up with tears. "Why are you so good to me, Eileen?" he choked out. "Why the fuck are you here?"

Now it was Eileen's turn to shut her eyes, to feel her face lose its composure. "I'm good to you because _you_ are good," she whispered, placing her brow against his, breathing in his breath. "I wish you could see it, Henry—the way I see the world, the way everything is just so bright and lit up. And you're there, shining all the time—you've always been shining. Always. Ever since you were a little boy with that little camera, taking pictures of those butterflies."

Henry started crying—he couldn't help it, couldn't hold it off. He pulled Eileen close, and she held him, she held him until they both fell asleep.

* * *

"Henry, get up. We're going to be late."

Henry stirred, his eyes opening, the morning light strong. "Eileen?"

"No," said James, standing by the bed. He was already dressed in a polo shirt and jeans. "But it's the next best thing. Rise and shine."

Henry sat up, rubbed his eyes. "Oh, Jamesy. What the hell are we gonna be late for?"

"We have to register for the orientation. Who knows how crowded it'll be, so better to get there early. We'll have to go in about an hour."

"Alright," said Henry, sheets and blankets twisted around him. He yawned. "Just give me a couple of minutes. Breakfast?"

"Tina made some really good pancakes, but I already had some. They're still eating if you want a bite."

"Yeah. Thanks." Henry stumbled out of bed, grabbed his jeans from the floor and his dress shirt from the headboard. He threw them on, rolled up his sleeves. "How's my hair?" he asked. "As shitty as usual?"

"Even shittier," said James. He watched Henry play with his hair and pick at his shirt. There was something off about the young man's movements, something absent and dreamy. "You alright, Henry? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, of course." Henry looked out the window, let out a breath. "Just tired for some reason."

"You sleep well?"

"Yeah. The best I've slept in a long time, actually." Henry looked to his friend, patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be so fucking grim, James. It's just college."

"Right. College."

They walked over to the kitchen, where Tina was washing dishes and Eileen was sitting at the middle island, devouring a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacons. "Henry!" she cried, her mouth full. "About time you woke up. I guess I really did a number on you last night."

"Yeah," said Henry, smiling at her. "You really did." She blushed, went back to her food, and he turned to Tina. "You went all-out, cuz. You really that happy we're here?"

"It's nice to have company over," Tina said, throwing a rag over her shoulder. "It makes this place feel more lively." She gestured to the table. "Go on, get some. We'll have leftovers since Eric had to leave early. You look skinnier than I remember, by the way."

"He eats a ton," Eileen said. "Must be that radical metabolism, I guess."

"Must be," Henry said. He grabbed a stool, fixed himself a plate, then poured a glass of orange juice. Tina spoke over the running water.

"So, orientation. Got ourselves a few pups here."

"Yep," said Eileen. "Go huskies! Woof woof!"

"You teach at USM, don't you, Tina?" James asked.

"I teach two night classes," she said. "Intro writing courses. Nothing fancy. Been working at my doctorate for about a year now." She shut off the water, turned around, dried her hands with the rag. "Otherwise I'm over at PHS. A bulldog by day and a husky by night."

"Hey, all dogs go to heaven," said Eileen.

James looked up at Tina. "It sounds like you have your hands full."

"I keep busy," she said. "We're getting by, though. That's what matters."

Henry, meanwhile, pushed his plate away. He wordlessly gulped down his glass of orange juice. "Damn, son," Eileen said. "You ate that mighty quick."

"I was hungry." Henry stifled a burp, then turned to James. "Well? We ready to get this over with?"

"Yeah," James said. "We'll be off, Tina. It's not all day—just signing up, then taking care of housing."

"I just feel really bad about these plates," Eileen said, eyeing the countertop. Tina shook her head.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it. You three have fun. You're about to start a new chapter. The best thing to do is relish it."

"New chapter," Henry grunted. "I'd like to stay on this one for a little bit, honestly. But whatever. Let's go."

* * *

"You sure she's here?" Curtis asked, thumbing the steering wheel of his truck. Beside him sat Margaret Holloway, her blonde hair down, dressed in a black overcoat. She smirked, revealing the archaic triangular prism in her hand. It pulsated violently with dim bursts of crimson light.

"Of course. See the pulse? One of the fairy princesses is here." She tilted her head, pursed her lips. "It must be college orientation. Yes, she would be around that age."

"You said there were two princesses left," said Curtis. "Which one is it?"

"It doesn't matter. Either one will give us what we need."

"But the other one? She—"

"She can't do anything," Holloway said. "I told you before, Curtis. Princess Heart won't make a difference. Dahlia and Michael put too much faith in their own cleverness. They thought they could control the demons, but we're only human, after all. It's the raw power of the demons—that's what will correct the balance. 'Paradise' is just an idiotic dream. What we need is an equalizer."

Curtis was silent. His hands shook on the steering wheel. "Oh, please," laughed Holloway. "Get a hold of yourself, Curtis. You're going to help me do this. You're going to realize the Order's vision as it should have been realized a long time ago." Her lips twisted into a sinister smile. "You're going to kill. You're going to cause chaos on a level no one has ever imagined. You're going to drown them in blood, Curtis." She reached into her coat and produced three vials, each filled with a thick, black liquid.

"Now go. Bring me the princess. It's time for us to begin."

* * *

"It's so fucking _green_," Henry moaned, looking around at the campus. The University of Southern Maine—abundantly green, with sprawling grass, old, towering trees, and a picturesque view of the nearby lake. "I never thought I'd miss city shit and the subway." He stopped, clicked his tongue. "Nah. Fuck the subway."

He, James, and Eileen were walking down the main street that cut through the center of the campus. Many other incoming students littered the street and the adjacent lawns and parking lot, a lot of them in the school's principal blue and gold.

"Just enjoy it, Henry," Eileen said. "In another month, all this green will be yellow and red and orange." She sighed. "Oh, it'll be awesome. Just imagine walking with your coat on, with a nice little coffee, the leaves blowing all around you—that's gonna be sick."

"I'm glad you're so excited," Henry said flatly. He nudged James. "So, where the fuck are we supposed to go? Sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get the hell out."

James was studying a packet, tracing the print with his finger. "We have to go to the education center," he said. "It should be right up the street."

"Perfect. Oh, shit—look at the line."

They came upon the education center, a large building with windows all over its surface. A crowd mingled and sorted outside the doors; within, several lines led to reception desks. "Let's just cut inside," Henry said, taking Eileen's hand and booking it for the door, James in tow. They squeezed through the crowd and got inside the lobby. Henry groaned, beset by all the noise.

"Well, now what?"

"They probably have us by last names," James said. "Well, we're 'S' and 'T.' That means we're over here. You coming, Henry?"

"Yeah." Henry turned, touched Eileen's arm. "Don't get lost. It'd be a pain in the ass to have to find you."

"I'm a big girl, Henry," she said. "_You_ don't get lost."

"No promises I can't keep." He followed James over to the other side of the lobby. Eileen watched him disappear into the crowd, and then she took up a spot in line and waited. She folded her arms, stared up at the high windows—at the blue sky beyond them, at the lazy, slow-moving clouds. Love, she'd called it. All the love in the world. She felt some more tears start to work up, but she fought them down. No. No more crying. She was going to smile. She was going to be happy, she was going to spread that love. She had to—for Henry's sake, for James's sake, for everyone. She wondered about Heather. The last time she'd seen her had been in that apartment she'd rented with Claudia, a cramped, dirty little thing, but good enough to get by. Well, things were going to change. They were going to be better. She was going to make things better for her favorite ho's, for her favorite boy-toy, for all her friends—

The line moved up. Distracted, she took a step forward—and someone bumped into her from behind. She heard something break quickly, like glass shattering, and turned around. It was a man in a gray coat, a blur of greased, dirty hair underneath a splotched baseball cap, of an unshaven face with lopsided eyes, of sneakers and jeans. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled gruffly, and as he ambled off, steam rose in his wake.

"What the—" She stopped, noticed the familiar black liquid sinking into the floor, eating away at it like acid, coursing out—noticed the occult symbol begin to take shape, the lines glow red. She spun around, grabbed the people to her front and back. "You've got to move!" she screamed. "Everyone, _run_!"

People turned to her, gave surprised looks and confused stares, but it was too late. As Eileen threw herself down, reddish, purple light shot up behind her. There was a flurry of sounds next—screams, the hiss and sputter of more liquid hitting the floor, and something else, a distorted yelp, a throaty, horrible laugh.

Eileen turned around on her back and faced the beast before her, a humanoid creature on all fours, its skin leathery and burnt. Where its mouth should have been was only a slit, between which hung a jumble of wet, dripping, tube-like vessels. They swung with each twitch of the head, some of them moving as if independent of the creature itself.

The monster moved forward, nauseatingly close to Eileen, and then it leapt right over her and into the crowd. She flung her head back, saw the creature come down upon a young man, his screams cut short by a loud, fleshy tear. His body convulsed, broke into spasms, and then it suddenly stopped, suddenly fell still as the monster latched onto him more tightly and dug its head deeper into the back of his neck.

"What the fuck?" someone shouted. "Oh my god!" another yelled. Others were running, screaming, calling for help. The entire lobby was in chaos, people scurrying in all directions, the monster leaping off its prey and moving on, hopping from one person to another like a frog, moving with inhuman speed.

Eileen had barely registered it, had barely seen the young man shrink up and die, when she spotted a second creature leap into the crowd, and then a third, and a fourth. They drove into the throng, with each leap throwing blood into the air.

"No," said Eileen lowly. "No—stop. Stop, damn it! _Stop_!"

She got to her feet and turned, finding the man from before standing across from her, more creatures emerging from black holes around him. "Thought so," he said. "The only one that didn't run. I don't remember seeing you before at the shop. I guess you must be the other princess."

"Who are you?" Eileen demanded. "How do you have demons? We beat the Order!"

"Clearly you missed a spot," the man said. He tipped his cap. "The name's Curtis. Nice to meet you, princess, and it's nothing personal—but you're gonna have to come with me."

"I don't think so," Eileen said, straightening, her normally gentle green eyes growing fierce. "You're going to call off your demons. You're going to stop what you're doing right now. If you don't—"

"If I don't, you're gonna what? Doesn't look like you can turn into Princess Heart, otherwise you'd have done it by now. So what's it gonna be? I don't have all day."

"Go to hell," Eileen spat. "I won't let you get away with this!"

Curtis shrugged. "Figured that's what you'd say. Well, I call these beauties rompers. They're hard to handle—let 'em go wild, and they don't stop, as you can probably tell. Remember—it's nothing personal, princess." He waved his arm at her. "Get her, boys. But I need her alive."

The rompers sprang towards Eileen, moving like apes, the tubes hanging from their slits flexing, drawn to fresh blood. Eileen cursed under her breath. No pendant. No power. No Magnum Heart.

She ran.

* * *

On the other side of the lobby, Henry and James watched as the rompers kept attacking, kept scattering the crowd. "What the fuck's going on?" yelled Henry. "What are those things?"

"They look like demons!" James said. "Look at them! I know we saw some like that back in Silent Hill!"

"They can't be demons," Henry said. "We killed all those fuckers! We stopped them!"

"It doesn't matter. We have to get out of here. Henry!"

"We can't," said Henry quickly, "not without Eileen. I have to find her!"

"Henry—"

Gunshots drew them around to see a security guard overcome by a romper, its tubes breaking into his neck, blood shooting out. The handgun slid away, and Henry immediately dove for it.

"Henry, wait!" James cried, chasing after him. Henry reached out, inches away from the gun, when a shadow came over him. He turned, just barely seeing the romper as it crashed down upon him, its arms clutching his shoulders, pinning him down, its tubes poised to pierce his neck.

"Oh,_ shit_!" he screamed, shutting his eyes, ready for his throat to rupture open, when the romper's shoulder suddenly tore apart in a spray of black blood. Henry opened his eyes, adrenaline pumping. "What the fuck—" Half of the romper's head caved in next, blood jettisoning from the wound. It fell onto its side, and there was James standing over it, the handgun trembling violently in his hands, its barrel jumping with each pull of the trigger as he shot twice more, point-blank, reducing the beast's head to a bloody pulp.

"Holy shit, James." Henry stood up, wiped at his mouth. "That was a close one."

"Let's go!" James said, turning to him. "We have to get outside."

They hurried out, darting around the panicked crowds. It was even more chaotic out in the open, rompers leaping everywhere, hordes of people running away from them. "Eileen!" Henry shouted. "Where the fuck are ya? _Eileen_!"

James scanned the chaos, then pointed. "Henry, over there! Look!" At a distance, Eileen was running off, three of the demons in close pursuit.

"Where the fuck is she going?" demanded Henry, and James threw a hand up in realization.

"The car!" he said. "The gun that Alex's dad put in there. She has to be going for that!"

"Fuck, you're right! Come on!"

They headed off in that direction. In the parking lot, meanwhile, Eileen skirted between cars, the awful laughing of the rompers not far behind. She ducked behind a car, crouched, and tried to catch her breath, but one of the monsters landed atop the vehicle, crushing it. She was back up instantly, sneakers hitting the asphalt, eyes darting from left to right. "Come on," she hissed. "Come on, where are you?" Her eyes widened. "There!

She scooped up a rock as she went, big, uneven, and heavy, and immediately upon reaching the car slammed it into the passenger side window. The glass cracked, but didn't give way—she swung again, cracked it, swung again, cracked it. "Come on come on come on"—she raised the rock—"just fucking break!" She brought it down again, this time shattering the window. By the time the car alarm blared to life, Eileen was already fumbling with the glove compartment, slicing her arms on the broken glass. Her fingers hit the button—the glove compartment opened, the black contour of the gun slid out—and then she was flying back onto the ground, sky and clouds and a romper whirling into her vision.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed, staring into the darkness of its slit as it descended upon her, tubes flailing—

"That's enough."

The romper froze, turned its head towards the woman in black approaching. Eileen looked to the voice, her eyes widening in confusion. "You," she said. "You're—you're Judge Holloway. Elle's mom!"

Margaret Holloway smiled. "Eileen, isn't it?" she said. "So you're the fairy princess."

"Looks like we got her," Curtis said breathlessly, approaching. "She put up a hell of a fight. Imagine if she'd turned."

"But she didn't," said Holloway, the smug smile never fading. She called to the romper; the other two remained at a distance, docile and waiting. "Let her go. Curtis, bring her to me."

The romper obediently removed itself. Curtis pulled Eileen up by her arms, pinned them behind her. "She's all yours, boss."

"Excellent." Holloway reached into her coat. In one hand she brought out the triangular prism, its pulses now so rapid it was almost constantly alit—in her other hand, she brought out a rusted dagger, very old, obscure symbols carved into its length.

Eileen's gaze lingered on the dagger, and then she looked up at Holloway. "What are you doing? What do you want?"

Holloway raised the prism. "This is the Flauros, Eileen," she said simply. "Centuries ago, a demon was trapped inside this 'three-sided box'—a very powerful demon, one that even the greatest sorcerers of the time struggled to keep under their control. It's been in here ever since." She took a step forward. "The Order thought it would be safer to leave it inside, but I think differently. How powerful could the demon be? And all that's needed to find out is the pure blood of a fairy princess."

"No!" said Eileen. "I don't care what happens to me, but if there really is a demon in that thing and you let it out, it'll kill who knows how many people! You can't do that! You can't!"

"If they die, then they deserve to die," Holloway said. "They can feed their souls to Flauros. They can make him stronger, make him so powerful that the pitiful joke of a god Dahlia produced will look like absolutely nothing."

She advanced. "Now, stay still. It will only be a second—"

"Stop!"

Holloway turned, found James across from her, the gun aimed her way. Henry was beside him. "Eileen!" he cried. "Just hold on!"

The rompers turned, prepared to pounce. "James, get ready!" Henry exclaimed. "James!"

"Enough," said Holloway calmly. "James? I didn't think you'd be here."

"What the fuck?" blurted Henry. "You know this bitch?"

"Yeah," James said, his grip on the gun loosening. "That's Judge Holloway—Elle's mother. That's her."

"What? Bullshit, just shoot her!"

"You can," Holloway said, "but if I die, those demons will be on you in moments. I'm the only thing keeping them from killing you as we speak."

"I don't give a shit!" Henry stepped up, his teeth ground together, his eyes burning. When he spoke, his voice was hard and cold, so low they almost didn't hear him. "You let Eileen go right now," he said. "Do it or I'll kill you myself. And it'll be slow. I promise you that."

"No," said Holloway, shaking her head. "I don't think so. I'm going to open the Flauros now, and you will be the first to see just how weak we humans really are."

"Henry!" Eileen screamed. "That box—it has a demon inside! You can't let her open it! You have to stop her!" She struggled to break free, but Curtis held her firm. "Damn it, James, shoot her! _Shoot her before it's too late_!"

"I—I can't," he said, unable to hold the gun straight. "Damn it, she's Elle's mother!"

"I don't care if she's the fucking Virgin Mary!" Henry went for the gun. "Just do it—"

One of the rompers leapt in between him and Holloway, ready to attack. Eileen screamed. "_Stop_! _Don't hurt him_!" She stared on desperately, fearfully. "Please, don't hurt him. I'm begging you. Don't hurt him."

Holloway looked to her, then turned back to the romper. "Stop," she said. "Leave him."

The romper shrunk back, but it remained in place, protecting its master. Henry reached out. "Eileen—"

"It's okay, Henry," she said, putting on the strongest smile she could. She looked at him, at his cute hair, his cute chin, his cute cheeks. "It's okay. You'll be okay. Just—just remember. You're good."

"No," Henry said. "Eileen, wait. _Eileen_—"

Holloway turned and slit the girl's throat.

Eileen's eyes immediately fell; the once vibrant green faded. Her legs buckled; her body went slack. Blood streamed out and splattered over the Flauros. It glowed brightly, humming louder and louder. "It's happening," Holloway whispered in excitement. "It's happening!"

The Flauros radiated, rising out of her hand and levitating, emitting light so bright that the parking lot seemed to darken. The rompers whimpered, moved away fearfully—Curtis stepped back, letting go of Eileen's limp body, looking on at the artifact. "Holy shit," he breathed.

James stared up at the Flauros in a mixture of horror and awe. "Oh my god. Henry—Henry, we have to go! Henry!"

But even as the Flauros opened, even as it split apart into five distinct glowing prisms, even as a rush of darkness erupted from it, shooting up like a geyser into the sky and blotting out the sun, spreading like smoke, even as an unearthly wail accompanied it, was heard all over—even as all this happened, Henry could only stare at Eileen, could only stare at her blank, empty eyes, at her slack, loose lips. He fell to his knees, his own fight leaving him, his own life bleeding out. He couldn't move—not as something began to take shape above him in the tumultuous darkness, not as James dragged him back, pulled him with all his strength away from the scene. All he could focus on was Eileen lying there, cold. Dead.

But then as the raging storm finally drew his attention upward, he saw something else. A little sparkle of light rising into the air. A stream of light sailing up, called away. His hand feebly groped for it, weakly tried somehow to grab it. But then it was gone, too far away, too high up, and all he could see was a pair of bloody red eyes in the darkness high above them—a pair of enormous mandibles, two gigantic horns. Two humongous hooves came crashing down into the asphalt, crushing Alex's car. The monstrosity roared, shaking the earth beneath them and tearing the heavens apart.

But it didn't matter, not anymore. He didn't care. Eileen was gone, and Henry was left behind.

**END EPISODE 01**

**Dark coming down.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	2. Flauros Unleashed!

"It's great out tonight."

Elle tipped her head back, looked up at the indigo sky, a few stars already twinkling high above. The sun was setting, painting the horizon yellow and pink; its radiance burned through the trees in the backyard, lit up the contours of the houses beyond them. She raised her beer to her lips, took a long swig. It was cool in her hand. There was a breeze, the chirp of crickets. A musky scent floated from the trees, filled the yard.

Mary was beside her on the porch, leaning back in a foldable chair. "It really is," she said, her tan face beaded with sweat, her caramel hair clipped back. She was in a sleeveless white blouse and jeans, the bottoms rolled up. Elle wore a small jacket over a t-shirt and a pair of track pants. The little halogen light bulb above them buzzed to life as the blue and purple of the sky deepened. Moths fluttered to it.

Alex stood in the yard, beer in hand, flipping steaks on a grill. The heat of the fire compounded the humidity, but the breeze felt cool on his skin, through his black t-shirt. He took a drink of his beer, wiped his hands on his jeans. "Almost done," he called to the girls. "I'm getting them just right for you two."

"Make sure it's cooked black for Mary," Elle said, laughing. "She'll puke if she sees anything like blood."

"I will not," Mary said. "Well-done, Alex. That's what I said."

"Got it." He turned to Elle. "Hey, hon, maybe some music?"

She took out her phone, thumbed through it. "What do you want? Rock? Oldies?"

"Maybe some Fleetwood," he said. "You want to grab the speakers from inside? Hey, check if Josh wants his meat cooked anymore. I've already got it to medium-rare."

"Sure." She stood, stretched. "Mary, you want something?"

"A little more lemonade?" Mary handed her an empty glass. "Thanks."

"No problem. I'll be right back."

She went inside, shut the screen door behind her. Mary sighed, leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees. It _was_ a really nice night. It was hard to imagine that just a few months before she was in a hospital bed what seemed like every day, running tests, getting her blood pressure taken, coughing up blood, throwing up bile. The worst was retching, waiting for something that never came, bending over the toilet practically crying. It was lying in an unfamiliar bed, sleepless, plagued by deep, hidden aches and bright, violent pains. But now she felt fine. Now she slept easy, kept down everything she ate, felt an appetite almost all the time. She could go running again. She didn't have to take anymore medication, didn't have to go in for anymore tests. It was literally a new lease on life, a new beginning.

She wandered over to the grill, thumbs hooked into her pockets, watched Alex. He dropped the steaks that were ready onto a platter, the meat glistening and juicy. The smell made Mary salivate, and she smiled, embarrassed.

"Almost ready," Alex said. He took another drink of beer, turned the couple of steaks that were still over the fire. "Hear from the guys?" he asked.

"James called me yesterday," she said, looking at the fire. "They got to Henry's cousin's house. Henry's his usual grumpy self. Eileen's having fun. He sent me a couple of texts later at night, said everything was fine."

"That's good. Nothing today?"

"No. They're probably busy with everything going on."

"Definitely." Alex sighed. "It's crazy. Everything's changing. You know Elle got accepted into Brown, right?"

"Really? That's the first I'm hearing about it." Mary laughed. "That's great news. She deserves it after how hard she works."

"She was probably going to surprise you," Alex said. "Sorry about that."

"I can be a good actress," Mary said, and then she slapped at her arm. "Geez—I really should have worn something else. These mosquitoes are killing me tonight."

"We have some spray. You want me to go get it?"

"I'll do it. Thanks, though." She headed back to the house, Elle coming out and setting down a pair of speakers on the porch.

"I'll get your lemonade right now," she said.

"Don't worry, I'm going in, anyway," Mary said. "Alex said there's some repellant?"

"Oh, yeah. Should be in the kitchen."

"Thanks."

Mary reached for the door, then stopped—a huge, cold wind suddenly swept through the yard, giving her a jolt. "Whoa!" She stepped back, hugged herself. "What was that?"

"I don't know," said Elle, her jacket billowing, her ponytail flapping. "I thought we just got over that cold front." Another rush of cold air ran through the yard, and then another. The trees thrashed; the wind chime hanging from the awning clattered. In the distance, black clouds advanced, creeping closer with every moment. They draped the sky, swallowed the stars and the pleasant blue of the dusk.

"What is that?" Mary asked, stepping to the edge of the porch. "A thunderstorm?"

Alex stared up at the spreading darkness. "Those aren't clouds," he said. "It's smoke. No." He paused, narrowed his eyes. "Fog."

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 02: The Encroaching Dark! Flauros Unleashed!**

A roiling darkness blanketed the sky above the USM campus. It spread, cast an enormous shadow over everything beneath it. Onlookers looked on in terror; they ran, scurried to shelter, to their cars, to anywhere that offered even a modicum of safety. But there was no safety, there was no place to hide, not with the massive, towering beast above them, its flaming red eyes seeing everything, its earth-shaking roars heard for miles.

"It's incredible," Holloway said, watching it from a distance, the prism dull and heavy in her hands, now just a piece of rusted metal. "It's more magnificent than I ever thought."

The demon was behemoth in size, a hulking, red humanoid body with the hooves of a goat, the mandibles of a fly, the claws of a dragon. From its back protruded two large tentacles; they sliced through the air, touched down, demolished buildings and trees.

Curtis ran over to Holloway, his eyes huge. "We have to go!" he cried. "We can't just stay here! That thing's a fucking skyscraper!"

"It's no use," said Holloway. "Look."

Lights went out; cars refused to turn on. Phones and laptops shut off throughout the campus. Refrigerators stopped humming. Fans stopped whirring. "Electronics are useless in its presence," Holloway said, taking out her cell phone and throwing it to the ground. "You won't be able to drive."

"You're shitting me," Curtis said. "Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

Holloway smirked. She stepped forward, raised the prism. "Hear me, demon!" she yelled. "I have released you from your prison! I have spilt the pure blood of a fairy princess—I have restored you your life and vigor! Now you must help me!"

The demon looked down on her, something in her words reaching it, registering. It roared defiantly, raised a claw to slam down upon them—but then Holloway spoke. She held the prism, chanted under her breath; it glowed, began to split apart. The demon instantly recoiled, shrieking instead of roaring. Chains and barbed wire shot forth from the glowing prisms, threatening to ensnare it, but with another quick incantation, they were slinking back, returning into the light, the prism reassembling itself.

"Do you see?" Holloway shouted. "All it takes is but a few words, a few measly chants. I can place you back whenever I wish—but I have no interest in doing so. You want souls, don't you? I can give them to you—I can lead you to as many souls as you desire." She laughed. "There's one you may be very anxious to consume. Another hated fairy princess awaits! I can take you to her. In return, all you have to do is shelter me. All you have to do is let me watch you do your work."

The demon seemed to understand. It relented. It lowered a claw to Holloway and Curtis, allowing them to walk upon it. "You're shitting me," Curtis said again. "You're totally shitting me."

Holloway said nothing, just smirked. The demon raised them up into the air, a prism of amber light enveloping them. "Very good," said Holloway. "Now, go south. I'm sure you can feel it—the power of the fairies, weak, but there. And until then, this city is yours to take!"

The demon let out another roar. The crater in its chest swelled up, and then a mist erupted from it—smaller demons poured out of the purple haze, all of them winged humanoids with arced legs and enormous maws lined with razor-sharp fangs. Their right arms led to axes at their ends, sharp bone composing the blades. The horde flew in all directions, swooping down, searching for prey. They found hapless victims hiding in dumpsters, underneath cars, in alleyways—with ruthless efficiency they hewed and carved them into twos, with each bloody shower collecting a small burst of blue light into their free hands. They flew these back to the great demon, deposited the lights into the vile mist at its center.

With giant steps, the demon lumbered forth, heading south, its horde never flying too far from it. As they went, they killed and slaughtered. And the black fog continued to roll out, continued to devour light and wind and sun.

Henry was down below, sitting against an upturned car in the destroyed parking lot. Tears stained his cheeks and clouded his eyes, but he could no longer summon the energy to even cry. All he felt was exhaustion—complete and utter exhaustion, and the vision of the great demon and its servants, as horrible and frightening as it was, failed to impact him. Only one vision remained in his mind, hovered before him whenever he closed his eyes—Eileen lying there, blood oozing from her once soft throat, her once beautiful eyes vacant and gray.

Again he had failed. Again he had lost. And now—now he just couldn't do it anymore.

He sat there for a long time, motionless, listless, even the demons swooping overhead paying him no attention. And when they and the great demon had departed, had left to carve an increasingly bloody path through the city, had left to cause even more carnage, he still sat lifeless. Unmoving. Unmovable.

But then a voice called to him. "Henry!"

He looked up, dazed, and saw James kneeling before him. "Henry," he said, "we have to go! We have to keep moving!"

"James," said Henry weakly, struggling to speak. "It's—it's over. We're done."

"Nothing's over," James said. "Henry. Heather still has the Seal of Metatron. She can still turn into Princess Heart. We're still in this—we can still fight!"

"What's the point?" Henry asked. "It doesn't matter, James. Eileen's dead. I let her—I let her down again. I fucking failed her. I could have saved her—I could have stopped that bitch—and I didn't do a goddamn thing. And she still believed in me! She still looked me right in the goddamn eye and said I was good!"

Fresh tears fell. "Don't you get it?" he shouted. "I'm not good! All I do is hurt people! I let Velasquez die! I let Sullivan and the Order kill all those people! And now I let Eileen go—I just let her die like some fucking pig! I just watched like an asshole, like a coward!"

He let out a low, guttural laugh. "And now this fucking shit—the goddamn fucking apocalypse, right in front of us—I let that happen, too. After everything that happened, after everything we did and everyone that died, we still lost!"

"Henry." James reached out, grabbed his shoulder. "Henry, listen to me. A few months ago, I thought we were done for a million times. Everything with Sullivan. With Mary. When they took Heather. When we thought Alex and Elle were gone. Every damn near-death, every demon, every time we almost got killed, I really thought we were done. I didn't believe, I didn't think we could win. I didn't think we had a chance.

"But you never stopped. You kept going, you just kept going. You fought like hell. And Eileen did, too—she saved us all, and she wasn't even proud, she wasn't even impressed. She just kept moving, kept looking on the bright side, kept fighting. She never gave up because no matter what, there were people counting on her. There were people who needed her help, and she never stopped. She believed that she could win."

Henry was quiet. He looked up at James, teary eyes trying to focus, trying to find their way back. James looked down, searched for the words, collected himself.

"I was scared," he said. "The whole time, I was scared—but then we made it. Eileen did it, her and Heather. And then everyone was okay. Mary was alive, and she wasn't sick. It was a miracle, and it happened because those girls believed—no, they _knew_. They knew that we would make it. So now we have to do the same thing. We have to believe, because there are people that give a shit about us, remember? As long as they do, we can't give up. We can't."

He stood, held out his hand to Henry. "No frowning, remember? We have to keep our smiles on."

Henry stared up at him, then smiled despite himself, despite his tears, despite the awful pain it caused him both inside and out. "No frowning," he repeated, taking James's hand and standing. He wiped at his eyes, straightened his shoulders, clenched his fists.

"We fight," he said. "We fight and we win."

* * *

Heather stumbled into the bedroom and immediately collapsed onto her bed, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Oh my _God_," she moaned. "I had _the_ worst day today."

Claudia was on the other side of the room, sitting on her bed, a textbook and notebook propped up on her legs. The lamp on her bedside desk cast a gentle glow over her. The window between the beds showed Ashfield, lights on in the night, the sky becoming increasingly dark. A sudden wind rattled the window, sent a chill down Claudia's back.

She relaxed, sent Heather a glance. "Why's today the worst?"

"Oh, nothing—just dumb customers, dumb managers, dumb people in general." Heather laced her hands behind her head, kicked off her shoes. "I mean, they're just hamburgers. Not rocket science."

"Maybe you should look for something else," Claudia said. "Why not be a receptionist? A teller? Something that's a little less—I don't know—hectic?"

"Eh. Maybe." Heather looked over at her. "How were your classes?"

"Good. We've been reading _Pride and Prejudice_. Next week we're starting _Jane Eyre_."

"_Pride and Prejudice_? I saw the movie." Heather sat up suddenly, threw her arms out. "Oh, Mr. Darcy! 'She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_.'"

Claudia smiled. "Eileen would really like the class. All those great female authors in Victorian England—she'd probably go crazy trying to read them all."

"Eileen, Eileen, Eileen," Heather said. "She's such a cunt. Took my dog away from me and everything."

"You want to go visit him tomorrow?"

"We can." Heather laid back, took out the pocket mirror from her jeans. She turned it over in her hands, studied it. "She texted me yesterday—Townshend's being a dick, but James is obviously the best around. Seemed like they were having a good time."

"We'll still see her, Heather," Claudia said. "She's not going anywhere."

"I guess. It's not like I miss—I mean, not really. It's just, she's gone half the time, spending time with James and those guys, or she's with Townshend. It's like we never hang out anymore. And you're taking all these classes and studying and—I don't know." She sighed. "I guess I'm lonely."

Claudia regarded her, looked at her brown curls, at the cute slope of her nose, at her neck. Slowly, she put her books down, got up, and walked over to Heather's bed.

The other girl glanced at her. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Heather," she said, "you're not alone."

"Clau, what—"

Claudia knelt down and kissed her.

She closed her eyes, held the kiss, and when she pulled away, both girls just blinked at each other, equally surprised. Heather sat up, gingerly touched her lips. "Claudia," she said. "Claudia, what was that?"

Claudia looked away, blushed immediately. "I don't—I don't know," she said. "It just happened." She looked at Heather again, saw the trepidation in her eyes, and turned away. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Dazed, Heather stood up, slipped on her shoes. "Yeah," she said softly, heading for the door. "I'll, uh—I'll be back. Just gonna buy some snacks. Do you—do you want anything?"

Claudia said nothing, still hiding her face. "Okay," Heather said awkwardly, and then she left, pulling on her parka as she went. Outside, she was instantly beset by a powerful, frigid wind; the sky was pitch black, rumbling with agitation. Heather looked up at it briefly, unnerved, and drew up the hood of her parka.

As she walked down to the street, absently checking for the pepper spray in her pocket, the wave of surprise started to subside. Claudia had kissed her. She'd kissed her. It didn't strike her as weird or strange, actually, now that she considered it. Claudia had never really expressed interest in the boys; she'd gone to prom with Rocky Santos, but that had probably been a formality, just a simple, unremarkable date. But this? Claudia a lesbian? It wasn't surprising, per se, just—just—

"Unexpected," she mumbled to herself, walking into the corner store down the block, the bell above the door jingling as she entered. There was no one else inside, save for Phil, the middle-aged man behind the cash register. He was balding with glasses, dressed in a red polo shirt that had his nametag slapped on the front, a newspaper open in front of him. A radio played lowly on a shelf behind him. The lights were pale and sickly; the smell of spilt juice or soda hung in the air.

"Hey, Phil," Heather said, waving. "How's it hanging?"

"Huh?" He looked up, squinted at her, tried to place her face. "Oh—Heather! How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"I'm good. Just getting some candy." She pulled down her hood, put on a polite smile, tried to pretend she didn't notice him eyeing her from over his glasses. She grabbed some Kit Kats, some lollipops, a couple of different bags of peanuts. Over at the cold section, she picked out a small container of rocky road ice cream, nabbed a chocolate chip ice cream sandwich. The lights flickered for a moment, then were fine. She looked up at them, shrugged.

She waddled over to the cash register, her arms overflowing with snacks between them. "Don't ask," she said. "I think I'm gonna do a lot more stress eating for the next couple of days."

"Don't eat too much," said Phil with a lewd smile. "Want to watch that figure."

"Ha ha. Yeah." Heather looked down quickly at her breasts, peeked at her butt. _What_ figure? Two little mosquito-bite tits and a tiny ass? She did a double-take, peeked at her butt again. Actually, it wasn't that bad. Maybe—

A sudden tremor rocked the store. The windows rattled; the shelves shook, bags and drinks and magazines falling to the floor. Heather almost tripped, composed herself. "What the hell was that?"

"It was like an earthquake," said Phil, and then the lights shut off as another tremor shook the building. Heather looked outside—lights were going off in all of the buildings, the bright squares of windows darkening like dominoes. In the street, cars suddenly stopped; down the way, two slammed into each other, scattering glass and metal. People were running out into the street, were ducking for cover. And then Heather saw it—a massive figure approaching, obscured by buildings, enormous crimson muscles, bright, fiery red eyes.

"It can't be," she muttered. "A demon?"

Shapes were flying around the monster, circling it, smaller figures that screeched and screamed. And then they were suddenly swooping down, wings outstretched, swinging their axes, splitting people apart. Screams filled the street—onlookers scattered. Blue lights started spiriting up, the reapers returning them to the gigantic monstrosity. It sent out a deafening roar. The windows of the store suddenly cracked, then burst, shards flying everywhere. "Holy shit!" Heather ducked down, hands over her head, glimpsing the monster raise a claw and literally swipe a building in two.

Phil was cowering behind the counter, eyes wide, his glasses crooked across his face. "Jesus Christ," he moaned. "Oh my god!"

Heather rose up, her gaze locked on the beast, her fists tightening. She ran out into the street, her hood flailing behind her, her hair whipping. She reached into her pocket; between her fingers the pocket mirror radiated, glowing, warm to the touch. She brought it out, clutched it in her hand, looked down at it. The smaller demons continued swooping down, continued shrieking and attacking; the greater beast continued rampaging, continuing roaring. She closed her eyes, felt her heart beating unbelievably fast, felt her legs and arms shaking, felt fear and shock and desperation twine in her gut. But then there was another feeling—anger, rage, fury. She looked back up, raised the pocket mirror, spoke one word.

"_No_."

The pocket mirror flipped open, shining. "Come on! _Heart power_!" The pocket mirror flew out of her hand, surrounded in bright pink light. Heather leapt up, the light shooting out in ribbons around her—she twirled, the red satin gloves adorning her arms, the familiar blue boots materializing over her legs. The pink headphones and yellow antennae formed atop her head; a red belt wrapped around her waist, and a heart choker encircled her neck; the emblazoned pink heart over her chest glowed brightly. The light exploded out, leaving in its wake Princess Heart, who faced the oncoming demon.

"We're back, motherfuckers!" Heather cried. The heart on her belt glowed—a sphere of pink light enveloped her, and she flew off into the air.

* * *

"There it is! Fuckin' finally!"

Henry bent over, collected himself. He and James had finally made it to Tina and Eric's house; the trek off USM and through what remained of Portland had been nightmarish, buildings demolished, wreckage littering the streets, people running scared, bodies and blood splattered across sidewalks, parking lots, and alleys. Even now, some of the small demons that had flown out of Flauros remained in the pitch black of the sky, circling like ravens, searching for more prey.

"Remind me to learn how to hotwire cars," Henry said, stumbling to the house. "How many fucking perfect cars were there to jack? And we couldn't fucking get into any of 'em!"

James wiped at his brow, kept the gun raised. "It's okay, we're here now. We can use Tina's car, get to Ashfield, and warn Heather."

"Warn?" Henry laughed bitterly. "That fucking thing is probably in Vegas by now. Doubt there's anything left of Ashfield but some shitstains and burn marks."

"Henry!" James reproached. "Your parents are still there! My dad, Laura, Mary, Alex, Elle! They're all still there!"

"I know," said Henry. "Jesus, I know." He paused, rubbed his eyes. "You said that was Elle's mom? That fucking bitch? You think—"

"No," said James. "No way. Elle went with us to Silent Hill. She almost died there, she—she saved me." He drew a breath. "There's no way she's part of the Order. None."

"Yeah, I know, it's just"—Henry grimaced, let out a cry—"_fuck it_. Fuck!"

They were both silent, the shock of it all seeping back in, paralyzing them. But James shook his head, pointed to the house. They had to keep moving, had to keep pushing forward. If they stopped, if they doubted, it was over. "Come on," he said. "We need to see if anyone's still here."

They approached the house, made their way around the back. Henry nudged the screen door open, poked his head in. "Tina?" he whispered. "Tina, you here? Eric?"

There was no response. He looked back at James, who nodded and stepped inside, the gun raised. They moved slowly, cautiously through the kitchen, the house eerily quiet. Henry opened some drawers, found a flashlight. "This should help," he said, turning it on, waving the beam around. "James, you—"

"_Freeze_!"

They spun around, startled. The beam of the flashlight bounced off Tina, a shotgun in her arms, the barrel pointed their way. "Holy shit!" Henry cried. "Fuck, cuz, it's us! Put it down!"

She glanced between the two boys, blew some bangs out of her face, then lowered the weapon. "Holy shit, Henry. You guys are okay!"

"Yeah," he said. "Where's Eric?"

"He's in the back." She turned around to the hallway. "Honey, it's okay! It's Henry and James!"

A moment later Eric came out, a pistol in his hands. "Guys," he said. "Thank God you're fine. You came all the way from the campus?"

James nodded. "It took us a few hours, but we made it. The whole city's almost in ruins, though. It's a mess out there."

"I know," Eric said. "When we lost power, I was stuck in the office. Thankfully the cars started working once that—that thing moved on. I came over as fast as I could."

Tina looked at the boys, her brow furrowed. "Wait. Eileen? Where's Eileen?"

James blinked, opened his mouth. "She—Eileen is—" He turned to Henry, whose face was down, his eyes dark. He faced them, mustering his strength.

"Eileen is dead," he said thickly. "That thing—it killed her. We couldn't do anything."

Tina's face fell. Eric was grim. "It's okay," Henry said. "Eileen was a fucking fighter. If she was here, she wouldn't want us crying over her. She'd want us to live—to make this right."

"Make it right?" Tina said, incredulous. "How? That thing, that monster—it was like the devil. Like Satan himself was here. It's like a few months ago, when the sky was all red—"

"It can be killed," James said. "We just need to find the girl who can do it. Princess Heart."

"Princess Heart?" Eric turned to Tina. "That was the girl on the news in Ashfield, wasn't she? There were—there were monster attacks, weren't there? You're saying that thing is the same as them?"

"Yes," said James. "It's bigger, and a lot more powerful, but it's just a demon. Princess Heart can beat it if we make it to her."

"You say it like it's easy," Tina said. "How do you know where she is?"

"We know her," said Henry. "Fact is, Princess Heart saved our asses back when the world almost ended a few months back. It wasn't a hoax, it wasn't some global warming shit or whatever BS they fed you on the news. It was the fucking apocalypse, a goddamn demon invasion, and it's only 'cause of Princess Heart any of us are even alive right now. And that thing out there? It's looking for an encore."

Tina and Eric exchanged glances, and then Eric turned to the boys. "Alright. You said she was in Ashfield?"

"That's right," said James. "We—"

The ceiling suddenly shook. All four of them looked up, alert. "What was that?" asked Tina. "One of those flying ones?"

"I don't know," Eric said. "Just stay quiet—"

The glass of the patio door shattered, a giant, flapping demon sailing through it. "Holy fuck!" shouted Henry, jumping back. Tina and Eric were frozen; James slid behind the counter, called to them.

"Guys, you need to move!"

The demon's head twitched like that of a bird, focused on Tina. "Oh, no," she said, her tone rising. "Oh, God, Eric—Eric _do something_—"

He fired off the pistol, hitting the demon three times across the shoulder and chest. It flinched briefly, then shrugged off the shots; three bloody holes oozed down its body, but it only seemed more incensed. It jumped in front of the two, raised its axe, and then its chest ripped apart, bullets tearing through it. Eric grabbed Tina and threw themselves down. The demon turned, screeching, and was met with another volley of machine gun fire, bullets slicing through its wings, penetrating its body and head. Black blood gushed out as it advanced vainly, the shooting never stopping until it finally crumpled to the floor, dead.

Tina and Eric looked up, blinded by floodlights atop a pair of trucks. Two figures entered toting assault rifles, both dressed in all black military gear, gas masks hiding their faces. "Henry Townshend," one of them said. "Is Henry Townshend here?"

Henry looked to James, then rolled his eyes. "Who the fuck's asking?" he shouted back.

The soldier that spoke removed his mask, revealed a bearded face and cropped blond hair. "Mr. Townshend, this is a matter of national security. We're here to escort you."

At this, Henry stood up, faced the soldiers. "Escort me? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Ashfield, sir," the soldier said. "The unidentified creature—we call him Big Red—has been in Ashfield for the past hour. Apparently Princess Heart has made her appearance. We're under orders to take you there, along with James Sunderland and Eileen Galvin, and rendezvous with our commanding officer, General Howard Blackwood." The soldier paused, grinned. "And sir, that was an order."

* * *

Claudia wiped at her eyes, sniffled. She was so stupid. She was so fucking _stupid_. How could she ever think Heather would be interested in her? How could she ever even think Heather might swing her way? It was just another idiotic decision, another moronic move. She sighed, threw her book down, unable to study, unable to concentrate. She'd really screwed it all up now. Heather would probably want to get her own place now. She'd probably want to distance herself. God, why did she _do_ that?

She let out a sigh. It's just—she'd looked so genuinely sad, so totally alone. And how long had Claudia admired both her and Eileen, how long had she tried to get into their circle, to share in that special bond? They had always been there for her—had been the _only_ ones there for her, the only ones willing to spend time with the weird girl, the eccentric girl, the brainiac with the bookish attitude and the introverted personality. But the friendship they had, the way Heather and Eileen casually finished each other's sentences, ate each other's food, treated each other like close sisters, almost like lovers—they'd never given that to her. And she had been jealous of Eileen; she had been envious of that, of so easily taking away Heather's attention and affection.

It had been a stupid idea thinking maybe that could change with this apartment. It had been so, so stupid. But still—

The lamp went out, the air conditioning shut off. Claudia stared at the ceiling, confused, surprised, and then felt it: a huge tremor, followed by another. She toppled off her bed. Lights were blinking out across the entire city, and then there were shapes moving through the dark clouds, darting like gnats, screeching. Immediately she clamped her hands over her ears, the noise burrowing its way into her, chilling her blood. And then there was an even worse sound, a roar, so awful and terrible that it almost dredged up her dinner, almost made her puke it onto the floor. It was so loud the window exploded, shooting glass into the room.

Tentatively, she reached out, took hold of the window frame, peered out—and what she saw made her scream, made her retreat back, made her shake and convulse. The burning red eyes, the wide, bony horns, the insectoid jaw—they evoked hidden images, buried horrors, glimpses of a red room, flashes of black vines and thorns, feelings of intense pain, of immense agony, of deep, aching, staggering loneliness. Seeing her father die—watching Heather's perish—swallowing what was left of the supposed "god" in desperation, fear, panic, and frenzy, its taste like blood and metal, its slick, wriggling flesh sliding down her throat. The darkness—the endless rage, the constant fear, the crushing sadness, the guilt, the shame, the humiliation—and then the light. Heather's hand, offering more than friendship, offering love, forgiveness, hope, and redemption. Heather taking her into her arms, saying they were going home.

She opened her eyes. _Heather_!

And there she was, a pink dot in the sky, a beacon of light in the darkness. Claudia ran, sprinted, went to find her, to be with her now more than ever.

* * *

Holloway gazed at the destruction around her with absolute glee, with unchecked giddiness. "Amazing," she said softly, eyes alit. "I would never have thought, never have dreamed . . . And all this time we were trying to fulfill the ritual, trying to summon a fake god." She broke into laughter, high and deranged. "There is only one god! Flauros! And his reckoning has come!"

Curtis sat behind her, dumbfounded, shocked. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised—this is what they had worked for, this is what they been trying to accomplish. A wasteland, an eternal night, a landscape of death and blood. So why did it shock him so badly? Why did it frighten him so?

He was looking out at Ashfield, staring at the wanton destruction, and then he spotted a pink light approaching from afar. "Look," he said. "Look, it's her!"

Holloway turned, smirked. "Finally. She's here."

Heather flew towards the massive demon, sparkles and glittering light trailing behind her. She came to a stop, floated across from it, put up her fists. Holloway stepped forward. "Princess Heart," she said. "You're late. We've been waiting for you."

"Who are you?" Heather demanded. "What do you want?"

"My name is Margaret Holloway," Holloway replied. "As for what I want—just look around you. The end of humanity's reign, and the start of a new era. Not belonging to demons or humans, but the strongest, the most powerful. It's time for the very earth to bleed, now that its new master has come."

"That doesn't make any sense! You just want the same thing as the others, to go on your own stupid power trip! Well, I won't let you! This ends now!"

"I don't think so," Holloway said. "Flauros is more powerful than you could ever hope to be, and with every soul he collects, he grows even stronger." She pointed to the smaller demons returning with specks of blue light. "It's been a feast for him, a banquet! He's humanity's extinction event. He's the ultimate apex predator, and all the life on this planet—all the animals, all the people, all the plants—they're his to eat, his to consume!"

Heather recoiled in disgust. "You're fucking crazy!" she yelled. "Just another nutjob like Dahlia! And this motherfucker is no different than any of the other demons I've killed!"

"You're welcome to try," Holloway said. She turned to the demon. "Flauros! Here is the fairy princess I promised you! She's yours to take!" The demon roared. Heather braced herself, buffeted by the force of the air. The smaller demons flew in around their master, screeching.

"Flauros's loyal servants," Holloway called, "bring me this girl's head and her precious soul! Leave nothing left! Pick her bones clean!"

The demons shrieked in response, then attacked. "Here we go," Heather muttered, flying back, the demons circling her. "_Heather beam_!" she cried, shooting off twin yellow laser beams. Her target flew around, avoided the lasers; another came in from behind, raised its axe, and brought it down squarely on Heather's head. She dropped like a stone, crashing through the roof of an office building. She coughed, rising amidst plaster, computers, and cubicles.

"Shit," she said. "I'm rusty as hell."

The demon from before flew down to her, ready for another attack, but right as it swung, its body split into two, blood spraying everywhere. Heather looked up, coated in the black liquid, her golden pipe extended. The silver materialized in her other hand, and then she was flying back up, the pipes glowing. "Come on, fuckers!" She swung, whips of light lashing out, sliced one demon in half straight up its middle, cut off another's wing. But as they dropped, more flew in to replace them—for every one she cleaved through, two more appeared, all of them voracious, all of them screaming.

Heather attacked again, bringing the pipes down; she flayed an oncoming demon just as another tackled her, flying her away. Her pipes fell down below. She turned her head towards it, her eyes glowing yellow. "_Heather beam_!" The lasers obliterated the demon's head, literally melted it—it plummeted, its neck a ragged, molten stump.

Heather stopped herself, punched one demon away, kicked another, even head-butted a third, but there were always more. She flew away, trying to gain distance, and then it was coming at her, an enormous red claw. She rose up at the last second, barely dodged it, watched it plow straight through a building. The demon let out an indignant roar, but it was enough of a distraction—the smaller demons assaulted Heather, grabbing her, pulling her down. One of them opened its mouth, elongated its jaw, showed its teeth, and clamped it down firmly on Heather's shoulder. Her eyes widened; she screamed in pain, blood jettisoned. Another bit her arm, another mangled her leg. Fangs buried into her stomach, drove into her back, burrowed into her neck. Like a flight of vultures, they pecked at her, pulled at her, chewed at her. And when they were done with her, they dispersed, let her fall into a heap on the street below.

Holloway watched from above. She clicked her tongue. "That was underwhelming," she said. "What a disappointment. It looks like Princess Heart is an old joke."

Down in the street lay Heather, covered in blood, her uniform gone, her clothes in tatters. Her left arm was broken; her legs were bent and deformed, as if put through a grinder. Blood, sweat, and tears stained her face, dripped into her eyes. She struggled to stand, tried to raise her head, but the pain was unbearable, it was agonizing. She cried and whimpered, her life leaving her, her blood pooling around her.

The pocket mirror was just out of reach, having fallen from her as she dropped. It was silent and dark, no longer warm with power, no longer humming with potential. She saw it, and her determination returned, weak as it was. She reached out, pushed her shaky fingers as far as they could go—but it was useless. Her hand fell. She turned over, closed her eyes, felt her body grow stiff and heavy.

"Heather! _Heather_!"

A voice, calling her name. The shouts roused her, kept her awake; she tried to rise, tried to turn to it. "Heather, I'm coming!" And then she saw her—Claudia, rushing to her from down the street, racing by escaping bystanders, tripping over rubble, stumbling around debris. As she approached, her eyes widened in horror; she let out a pained scream, collapsed before what remained of Heather.

"No," Claudia said between sobs, touching the other girl's blood-caked hair. "No, Heather. Oh God no. _No_!"

Heather took her hand feebly, the action draining all of the energy from her arm. "Clau—Claudia," she managed. "The . . . pocket mirror. I need it."

Her eyes blurry with tears, her hands trembling, Claudia fumbled for the pocket mirror, held it to her. "It's here, Heather," she said, crying. "I have it. It's here."

"Put it—put it in my hand," Heather said, wincing. Claudia did so, and Heather used what little strength she had left to close her fist around it, to clutch it as tightly as she could. "Okay," she said. "Heart power . . . heart . . . power . . . heart . . ."

Claudia watched her head drop, watched her body slump, watched her hand loosen. The pocket mirror remained cold, cold as ice, its power sapped. A fresh bout of tears overtook Claudia, wrecked her from within. "Heather," she breathed, sobbing, unable to stop, unable to keep herself poised. She fell over Heather's bloody corpse, her hot tears dripping down, cascading over Heather's blood-stained face, onto her hands. "Heather, Heather, get up, get up," she moaned. "You have to _get up_! _Please_!"

Instinctively, desperately, she grabbed Heather's hand in her own, closed her fists around the pocket mirror. "Heart power," she chanted, still crying, still sobbing. "Heart power, heart power, heart power, heart power, heart power, heart power heart power heart power _heart power_—"

Nothing happened, and yet still she chanted. Her tears dripped down between her fingers, between Heather's fingers, over the pocket mirror. "_Heart power heart power heart power heart power heart power heart power HEART POWER_—"

The pocket mirror pulsated. Claudia stopped, startled, but then immediately kept going, immediately kept chanting, her voice growing louder, stronger, becoming a yell. "_HEART POWER HEART POWER HEART POWER HEART POWER __**HEART POWER**_—"

Light escaped between her fingers—bright, radiating, hot white light. The pocket mirror was scalding, burning, and Claudia looked on through tear-stained eyes as the comforting, soothing light expanded and smothered her and Heather. "You saved me," Claudia said, the light shining intensely, her hair blowing back. "You brought me back, Heather! You never gave up on me, and I'll never give up on you! _Never_! _You're not alone_!"

She closed her eyes, bent forward, screamed.

"_**Heart power**_!"

The light exploded out, took the form of a glowing, gigantic pink heart on the street. Holloway turned to it, perplexed, bewildered. "She's still alive?" she yelled. "She should be dead!"

Claudia was still chanting under her breath, tears falling down, clutching Heather's hand tightly, and then she opened her eyes. Golden sparkles and flakes of light were falling down over the street. Onlookers emerged, stared at the flakes in awe.

Claudia turned, saw two giant, translucent butterfly wings surrounding her, shielding her. They moved back, and then she saw Heather kneeling in front of her, the wings her own. Her uniform had returned, trimmed with gold, a tiara atop her head, a luxurious staff in her hand, a jewel-encrusted heart sitting at its end.

"Claudia," said Heather, smiling, "you're right. I'm not alone. Thanks."

Claudia returned the smile, drenched in relief, suddenly too exhausted to cry, too tired to say anything. "Let's go home," she said weakly. "Let's just go home."

"We will," Heather said, standing, "but first I have to take care of our little problem." She stared straight at the colossal demon, eyes fierce and determined and calm. "Demon!" she called out. "I don't know what you are, I don't know where you came from, but it's over! I'm not your enemy, but you're too dangerous to leave alive! You have to be stopped! I hope you understand!"

She raised the staff. "Ready or not, here I come!" She launched off, light twinkling and shining all around her. Holloway stepped back in fright; she threw out her hand frantically. "Kill her!" she yelled. "Don't let her get close!"

The winged demons advanced, but upon reaching Heather's general vicinity they exploded, combusted, burst into flames. The great demon roared one last time in fury as Heather approached. It bent over, its chest swelling, glowing bright with flame. "What's going on?" Curtis demanded, looking around in fright. The fiery light rose up through the demon's throat, amassed in its mouth—and then it was blasting out, an enormous stream of fire and white hot light.

Heather was unfazed, flying directly at it. "It's over!" she shouted, swinging the staff, a pink wave of light neutralizing the blast, reducing it to nothing. And then Heather was immediately in front of the demon, staring straight into its red eyes, the staff raised high above her head. "_By the power of the heart and true love's light, __**I'm sending you back to hell**_!"

**!** **思い** **!**

The light around the staff's jewel ballooned, expanded into a heart so large, so bright, it illuminated the sky, turned the eternal night into day. With a cry, Heather brought it down; it engulfed the demon and those surrounding it, engulfed Holloway and Curtis, engulfed the entire area, bathed it in pure, bright, holy light. It exploded, streamers and sparkles of pink, green, and yellow shooting out, whizzing over the city, raining down. Claudia watched from below with other onlookers in the street, all of them captivated, all of them awestruck.

Then the light faded. The sparkles, glitters, and streamers disappeared. The eternal night returned, briefly diluted, and then back in full force. Heather floated, stared on as the massive demon let out cries of pain, half of its body annihilated, black blood gushing out like waterfalls, its ruptured muscles and tendons and bones flailing, writhing. The flying demons began to congregate, began to surround their progenitor. Crimson light shone from the demon's ravaged body, forming a barrier around it. It crumpled within, shrunk. The light around it solidified into a great black shell, sleek and perfectly smooth. The flying demons landed, stood around the shell's base.

Heather looked on, unsure as to what she was seeing, and then felt a wave of exhaustion hit her. Her energy left her; her muscles sagged, practically fell numb. She floated gently down to the street, her uniform vanishing into petals of light, and took a moment on her knees, eyes closed.

"Heather!" Claudia cried, approaching with the crowd. "Heather, you did it!"

Heather managed to stand and face the crowd, her hair disheveled, her torn, ripped parka and jeans hanging off her. Claudia grabbed her in a tight embrace, and she laughed achingly. "Watch it," she winced. "Everything's hurting pretty bad right now."

"Sorry," said Claudia, shuffling away. "Just—thank goodness you're okay."

"Yeah. I guess that's what being dead feels like." She looked to the rest of the crowd, saw a bunch of surprised, aimless faces—and then they erupted into cheers.

"Princess Heart! Princess Heart! Princess Heart!"

"She saved us! She did it!"

"It's a miracle!"

"She fucking killed that thing! Hell yeah!"

Heather chuckled, rubbed her nose. "Yeah, it was nothing," she said quietly, letting the cheering die down. Then another sound overtook it—throttling engines, rolling tires. The crowd naturally moved to the sides, allowed a caravan of jeeps and trucks to drive up, the headlights shining, all of them in green and black camouflage. Soldiers streamed out of them, in fatigues, in body armor, in green and brown and black. The doors to the head jeep opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered black man stepped out in olive fatigues, an imposing, daunting figure with a groomed, gray beard. He put his hands behind his back, eyed the crowd, then walked to Heather.

"Heather Mason," he said, with the smile of a sage. "I am General Howard Blackwood. It's nice to finally meet you—or, should I say, it's nice to finally meet Princess Heart."

**END EPISODE 02**

**Lights fading.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	3. Heather Mourns!

Margaret Holloway rose from the rubble, covered in dirt and soot, scrapes lining her face. The prism was still lodged firmly in her hand, still dark and dead, still inactive. She looked down at it, momentarily lost, confused, and then raised her head—the wrecked buildings, crashed cars, torn-up streets—the black, violent sky—the dead bodies, both human and demon. And then there was the enormous egg at the center of it all, an orange glow pulsating at its base, illuminating the monstrous silhouette within.

"My Flauros," she murmured, ambling towards it. Her work—all her work—done, dashed, destroyed. It couldn't be. It couldn't be true. It was impossible. She had done everything correctly, had followed all the instructions, had waited so long, had killed and sacrificed so much. And for what? For a few blissful hours of wonderful alignment? A few too short, too measly moments of absolute understanding, of complete and total awe? "My beautiful Flauros, my sweet baby . . . What did that little bitch do to you? _What did she do to you_?"

This was not how it was supposed to be. This was not how it was supposed to be. This was _not_ how it was supposed to be. _This was not how it was supposed to be_! Flauros was supposed to be invincible! The girl was supposed to be dead! Why? Why was this happening, after she did everything right?

But she stopped, she stared at the egg, at its crimson glow, at the form resting inside of it. "It's you," she said, cackling. "You're still alive . . . You're just resting. And when you come out, when you wake up—"

Guns clicked around her. She turned her head; a group of soldiers surrounded her, their rifles trained and ready to fire. "Go ahead," she laughed. "Take me. It doesn't matter. It won't be long now! Soon you'll all be dead!"

They cuffed her, led her away. Curtis was in their custody, too, herded by another group. It didn't matter what they did with them, though—didn't matter what they asked, how much they tortured, what they tried to do. It was already over. It _had_ been over, ever since she opened the cage, ever since the darkness poured out.

She glanced back at the egg. Flauros was awake. He was free. He was unstoppable, immortal. And he would have his reckoning.

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 03: A Deceptive Calm! Heather Mourns!**

"It's hard to believe this is happening," Tina said. She sat in the bed of one of the trucks in a military convoy, the caravan slowly making its way down the highway, past ruined vehicles, past aid workers, past crying children and screaming husbands and wives, yelling fathers and sons, silent mothers and daughters. "I just can't believe it."

Across from Tina, James looked at the people as they passed, every single one disappearing into the distance once they had driven far enough, every single one, no matter how frightened, no matter how broken or grieving, eventually vanishing.

His father could be one of those, he thought. Arguing with soldiers or wondering where his son was, desperate and hungry for answers, for relief. His sister could be one of them, too—little Laura, trying to act brave, trying to puff up her chest and not be scared, but inside she was probably terrified, probably worried sick about her favorite fartface. The thought made him smile, but it didn't last—there was Alex and Elle, Elle's sister Nora, Alex's brother Josh. There was Mary, no doubt trying to stay calm, trying to stay strong. She had stared death in the face, had even accepted it—but this? All this carnage and destruction and misery? How much could someone take before they broke, before they gave up, before they knelt down and just waited for it to end?

He tried not to think about it. He closed his eyes, felt the hot wind as they drove, felt his bangs whipping, felt his t-shirt flap. They had a mission. They had a purpose. He couldn't let doubts get in the way. Eileen didn't, even when things were at their lowest. No frowning. Just keep smiling. Keep going.

"It's going to get worse," said one of the soldiers sitting with them after a moment. "This is just Big Red passing by, taking a piss. It's where he put his feet down that the damage is at its worst."

"The big cities?" Tina asked. "Ashfield?"

"Yeah, if there even is an Ashfield left."

"Christ. My God."

He nodded, adjusted his grip on his rifle. "You notice there aren't anymore small ones flying around? Something must have happened. We've been out of contact, so it's anyone's guess."

James looked at them, silent.

In the actual truck, cooped up in the back, sat Henry and Eric. Eric was sandwiched between a soldier and Henry; the boy was against the window, his head down, his camera in his lap. Eric glanced over, saw the radiant smile of Eileen in the little screen, the flash of her teeth, the green of her eyes. "Henry," he said, "are you alright?"

"Sure," said Henry. "I'm alright." He turned off his camera, looked up, sighed. "I'm just tired, man. I really thought we were done with this shit, but it just keeps coming."

"I know what you mean," Eric said, "and I didn't even save the world last time." He took on a small, knowing smile. "It's always going to come. There's nothing you can do except take it and just get back up. I'll admit I don't see how it can get much worse than all this, though."

He grabbed Henry's shoulder, squeezed it. "We're getting through this, Henry."

Henry tightened his grip on his camera, felt his eyes get watery. "Fuck yeah," he said, his voice getting firmer, finding its strength. "Fuck yeah we're getting through this. Even if it kills me."

* * *

Heather looked down at the bowl of oatmeal in her lap, pushed her spoon through its mush. "They could've added some more milk," she said, plopping some of it in her mouth. "And sugar."

Claudia sat beside her in one of the tents the military had set up. They were at the main camp atop one of the nearby grocery stores; just outside, soldiers and technicians ran back and forth, powering up computers, installing temporary lights, passing and reviewing reports. In the makeshift mess hall, halogen lamps burning above, some of the soldiers ate and joked at the other tables. It was all non-perishables, powdered milk, canned peaches and beans, cereals. Right at that moment, the aisles below were being ransacked, emptied out, all of the food sorted, organized, and rationed. In the few hours since the demon had been subdued, the military had already segmented the city, had already set up camps and food lines. And yet the sky was still that foreboding, pitch black. The gigantic egg still stood.

Claudia looked at the soldiers, then turned to Heather. She was wearing oversized fatigues now, a quick replacement for her tattered clothes, but otherwise she was fine. Not mangled and bloody. Not broken. Just the same as she always was, a little cynical, a little sarcastic, but still with that hopeful glint in her eyes. But Claudia wondered. She feared.

"Heather," she said slowly, "are you okay? After all of that?"

"I'm good," Heather replied. "You saved my butt, though, Clau. I don't know how you did it, but I think I was really dead. I just black out. My life didn't flash before my eyes or anything, but I definitely did feel like I was dying." She took another spoonful of oatmeal. "It was like when I got vine-raped by Dahlia."

Claudia looked away, hurt. "Uh, sorry," said Heather. "I keep doing that, don't I? It's not on purpose, I just feel better talking about it. You know, making fun of it."

"I know. And it's okay." Claudia balled up her fists. "It's not that I'm ashamed. It's more like I'm angry—at myself, at her. I'm angry that I let myself get talked into that. I'm angry that I did that to you. I'm angry that I lost faith."

She turned to Heather, drew a breath. "What happened back at the apartment, I don't want you to worry about it. I know you don't—_won't_ feel the same way. But I just want you to know that you . . . you're my best friend, Heather. My very best friend. And I know I don't deserve that friendship, but you—you still give it to me. You're just . . . you're just so _good_."

Heather elbowed her. "We're both good, bitch. Don't forget that."

"Okay." Claudia smiled. "I'll try."

Heather finished her oatmeal a few minutes later. As she was scooping up the remains from the bottom of the bowl, the tent flaps parted, and Howard Blackwood walked in. All of the soldiers stood to attention and saluted; Heather simply continued noisily sliding her spoon against her bowl.

"At ease, men," Blackwood said, saluting the soldiers. "I need to speak to the girls here."

"Heather!" Claudia hissed, nudging her.

The other girl looked up, distracted. "Hmm? What is it?" She finally noticed Blackwood, who stood patiently, his hands behind his back, the same sage-like smile on his face. "Oh, hey, the general dude. What's hanging, dawg?"

"Only the fate of our country, and maybe our world," he said. "Miss Mason, I need to speak to you outside, along with your friend."

Heather met his gaze and hardened her own. When he didn't budge, in fact only smiled wider, she clicked her tongue. "Okay, you win." She put the bowl down and stood up. "Come on, Claudia. We've gotta respect our elders."

They followed Blackwood out of the tent. Other tents were posted, lamps were set up, and even a helicopter was parked nearby. Blackwood led them away from the activity and towards the edge of the roof, where they had a solid view of the enormous egg amid the rubble of downtown Ashfield. Even from their distance, the pulsating orange glow was apparent.

"We need to talk frankly, Miss Mason," Blackwood said. "About you. About that monster. About our chances."

"Uh huh. Listen, dude, maybe I deserve a few answers first. Like when the hell did the government start spying on me?"

"Why _wouldn't_ we spy on you?" said Blackwood. "A teenage girl with the power to level an entire city? Monster sightings that popped up in videos online, in pictures on social networking sites? We've been gathering intel on you for the last six months, Miss Mason."

"So, what? I'm like a national threat or something?"

"On the contrary. You're a national hero. But that"—he pointed at the egg—"_that_ is a national threat, if not a global one. Some of the men have been jokingly calling it 'Big Red,' but that's not our official denomination. At the moment, we're referring to it as 'Unidentified Demonic Presence One,' or 'UDP01,' for short. We've codenamed the smaller demons as 'Tuberculosis'—they were spotted emerging from the larger demon's chest, so it seemed like an apt name."

"Well at least you got them being demons right," said Heather. "But this motherfucker is a hell of a lot stronger than any I've fought before. Seriously, it's off the charts." She crossed her arms. "And if you don't mind me asking, General, where the hell were you guys when all the shit was going down a few months ago? Whenever I was being attacked by demons? The world was fucking ending, and you guys were just sitting on your asses?"

"We didn't have the necessary information," Blackwood said. "We knew the disturbance was coming from an area where there used to be a town called Silent Hill, but it was impossible to find anything more concrete than that. And there was nothing to stop, besides that. We had to handle the situation very carefully, and had things escalated, contingencies were in place."

Claudia turned to him. "Did you all know about the demons? About what they were doing in Silent Hill?"

"I haven't been briefed on all the details, miss," said Blackwood. "All I can tell you is that we have intel on demons going back centuries. All of it has been hidden in some way or another, but we definitely know these things exist."

"Good luck covering it up now," said Heather. "You just had the big daddy of all demons take a dump in your backyard. I mean, shit, the dude looks like Satan."

Blackwood sighed, narrowed his eyes at the egg in the distance. "Yes, unfortunately," he said. "Half of Maine is burning as we speak, Miss Mason. I had planes falling out of the sky—entire highways, whole towns destroyed. And this sky above it all." He was quiet for a moment, contemplative, and then he went on. "It's thanks to you, however, that the damage wasn't far worse. You saved a lot of lives today, Miss Mason. I hope you're aware of that."

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" She gestured to the egg. "It's still alive. I hit it with everything I had, and it still survived. Now it's in that thing doing who-the-fuck-knows."

"From what we can gather," Blackwood said, "it's formed a chrysalis around itself."

"A what?"

"A cocoon," Claudia said.

"Oh. So, what—it's growing?"

"Perhaps," said Blackwood. "We started reading a heat signature from the chrysalis, one that's steadily gotten stronger every hour. Something is developing in there. Whether the UDP is transforming or regenerating itself or both, we estimate that we have about twelve more hours until it hatches."

"So I just bought us some time, is what you're trying to say. That's all I did."

"No, you bought us a chance. We can use this time to develop a countermeasure, figure out a way to kill it permanently."

Heather stared at the egg, shook her head. "How? I told you I threw everything at that thing. I don't think I can do that again, General."

"There is a way," he said quietly. "There must be. For the moment, our attempts to strike at the chrysalis have failed. Previously the demon generated some sort of electromagnetic interference, which meant we couldn't get close enough to strike. The interference seems to have faded now, but even though we can reach the chrysalis, it's impenetrable—we can't access UDP01, and nothing has been strong enough to break through. The Tuberculosi have made it even more difficult; they've formed a perimeter around UDP01, guarding it."

"So we're screwed," said Heather. "We have to wait for it to come out."

"It seems that way," he said. "Miss Mason, I won't pretend to know how you must feel right now, but we'll have to ask for your help again. Just know I don't do it lightly."

Heather exchanged glances with Claudia, then shrugged. "Listen, dude—I was born to kill these things. I'll do what I have to do. Whatever it takes."

Blackwood nodded. Suddenly several approached from the other side of the roof, their rifles slung over their shoulders. They saluted, and the foremost one spoke. "General Blackwood, sir," he said, "we've brought Henry Townshend and James Sunderland. They were in Portland, just like our intel said. Mr. Townshend's cousin and her husband are also with us."

The soldiers in the back pushed Henry and James up. "Watch it, man," Henry grunted, facing Blackwood and the girls. He let out a relieved sigh upon seeing Heather. "Fuck, Mason—am I glad to see you."

"Yeah, I bet," said Heather, unable to help her smile. "Hey, James."

Blackwood surveyed the group, furrowed his brow. "Wait," he said. "We have Townshend and Sunderland accounted for—where's Eileen Galvin? She was with them, wasn't she?"

The soldiers looked down, unsure of what to say. Henry and James said nothing. The foremost soldier finally cleared his throat, raised his head. "According to Mr. Townshend, Miss Galvin was killed in action by Big Red."

No one said anything. Heather blinked, cocked her head. "What did you say?" She turned to Claudia, who was completely still, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. "Claudia—what did he say?"

"Eileen's gone, Mason," Henry said. "She—she's dead. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Heather stared at him, uncomprehending. "Bullshit! Where is she, Townshend? Where the fuck is she?" She stomped up to him, so close her spit flew in his face. "Damn it, where the fuck is Eileen? _Where is she_?"

"I already told you," he said slowly, quietly. "She's dead. She's fucking dead."

"No, you're—you're fucking lying. You have to be lying—"

"I was there, Mason!" he said. "I saw her goddamn eyes. I saw the light go out of them!"

Heather tried to look at him, tried to defy the certainty in his eyes, but her face dropped. She turned away, bent over, and let out a sick, pained cry. "She can't be—she can't be dead—oh my god—"

Claudia reached out to her. "Heather—"

Heather pushed her away. She clutched her stomach, pinched her eyes shut, screamed.

* * *

"It's really hot, isn't it?"

Elle laughed, wiped her brow. She sat with Mary, Alex, and her sister Nora in a video rental shop adjacent to the grocery store. It had been re-purposed into a shelter, and it was already packed with civilians. Nearby was Alex's father and mother, Adam and Lillian, along with his brother Josh. Frank Sunderland and his daughter Laura were also present, anxiously waiting. They were all waiting, in fact, unable to know what could possibly be coming next, unable to know if the next hour brought life or death.

"We were lucky they came for us," Mary said. "Really lucky."

"Thank God for Heather," Alex said. "She managed to put that thing in the ground. I just hope it sticks. And here I was thinking all of this was behind us."

"We'll be okay," said Elle. "We just need to keep calm, not freak out." She put on a reassuring smile, stroked Nora's hair. "You hear that, Nora? We have to keep it together. I'm sure Mom's okay—they probably put her in another shelter, and we'll be able to go see her soon."

"I don't know," Nora said. "You saw that monster, Elle—"

"Yes, and it's gone. Princess Heart took care of it. She'll make sure we're safe."

Soldiers approached the door. Everyone looked up, apprehensive—James, Tina, and Eric entered, along with several others. Mary stood up, shocked, and then she was running to him, embracing him. "James! Oh thank God!"

"Mary," he said, putting his arms around her, taking in her scent. "You're safe. I didn't know—I didn't know what to think."

"I'm fine," she said, moving back, looking at him. "You look awful, though."

He chuckled. "It's been a long day."

"That's for sure." Alex came up, pulled him into a hug. "It's good to see you, James."

"You, too, Alex." He turned, reached out, hugged Elle and kissed her on the cheek. "And you, Elle. I'm so glad you guys are safe."

Frank approached, Laura hiding behind him. "James, is that you? James?"

"It's me, Dad," James said, embracing him. "I made it."

"You did," said Frank, pulling his son's head down and kissing it. "You made it. Oh, my sweet boy. I love you so much. I love you so much."

James hugged his father tightly, patted his back. "I love you, too, Dad. It's okay. I'm here." He looked around, finally saw Laura. "Laura? Are you okay?" The girl said nothing, her face tight and rigid. He half-expected her to scream, to shout, but instead her eyes welled up with tears, and she threw herself at him, sobbing. James held her, felt his composure almost give way, felt his own tears finally almost come, but he held it, he fought it. He had to be strong. He had to keep going.

The Shepherds came over, greeted him, embraced him. As they all crowded around, Alex spoke up. "James," he said. "Henry? Eileen? Where are they?"

"Henry's outside talking to Heather," James said, everyone quieting around him. "He's okay. Eileen—that's what I need to talk to you about. And Elle—I know you won't want to hear this, but you have to."

Outside, in a small stretch of empty street, Heather shook, her hands on her knees, the food in her stomach threatening to come up. Claudia put her arms around her, whispered what reassurances she could. Henry watched them, nervously wringing his hands, trying to keep himself from breaking, as well.

At last Heather took Claudia's hand, eased her away. "Okay," she said, her voice thick with tears and snot. "I'm okay, really. I'm okay." Claudia stepped back, gave her space, and, slowly, Heather straightened, wiped the tears from her face, wiped at her runny nose with her sleeve. She turned to Henry, struggled to meet his gaze.

"Tell me what happened," she said, her tone trembling.

"Mason—"

"Tell me what happened, Townshend. Please, I'm asking you."

Henry sighed, relented. "We were at the college," he said. "Everything was fine—totally fucking hunky-dory. Then all of a sudden there were demons, and there was this sleazy guy, and this woman—it turns out it was Elle's mom."

"Elle's mom? That woman up there?"

"Yeah. She was the one that summoned the demons. She had this thing—this pyramid. All this fucking darkness and that demon, they came out of the pyramid, like they had been trapped in there or something."

"Townshend, what about Eileen?"

He closed his eyes, pursed his lips. "Eileen—Eileen was what she needed. Elle's mom, she—she cut Eileen's throat, had her bleed on the pyramid. And that was all she needed. That's what opened it." Heather listened, her eyes falling again, a rough moan escaping her lips.

"Me and James," Henry continued, "we couldn't do anything. The demons kept blocking her, kept getting in the way. It was . . . it was the worst fucking thing I've seen in my life. Worse than the demons. Worse than watching Velasquez die."

For a long, agonizing time, Heather stared at the ground, her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry, Mason," Henry said once more, and then he turned to go. Heather looked up.

"Townshend," she said, then, more softly, "Henry. It's not your fault."

He waved, kept walking. She watched him go. Claudia tentatively came near, reached out. "Heather?"

Heather put on a weak, feeble smile and threw an arm around Claudia's shoulders. "Come on, Clau," she said, sniffling. "Let's see what the General's up to."

Henry, meanwhile, was met by two soldiers at the door to the shelter. "Mr. Townshend," said one of the soldiers, "we're supposed to escort you to the hospital."

"The hospital? What for?"

"Your parents," the soldier said. "We've been informed that your father suffered a heart attack." The soldier shrugged. "I'm sorry, kid."

"And who's giving the order? Major Payne up there?"

"Let's go." The soldier grabbed Henry by the shoulder and steered him towards the parking lot. Henry went along wordlessly.

* * *

"I still can't believe I'm driving around a couple of teenagers," the female soldier at the helm of the jeep said. "VIPs old enough to barely drink."

James was in the passenger seat, while Mary was in the back, flanked by two more soldiers. They drove through the streets, this section of the city relatively intact, only a few buildings damaged. Soldiers, medics, firefighters, and some police still went from door to door, inspecting buildings, passing out rations, making repairs. A burnt smell floated towards them from one of the buildings—maybe an electrical shortage, or a blown fuse.

"Well, none of this is exactly ordinary," James said. "Everything went upside-down months ago. I thought it was behind us, but maybe that was just me being naive."

"You never know what's coming," said the soldier. She was in her thirties, her sandy blonde hair in a ponytail, her gray eyes set forth. "There's been a lot of doubting, a lot of wondering. I lost a relationship to this life. It was hard for her. She couldn't stand it—kept expecting a call, a knock at the door. I get it, you know—dad and mom were both army. But I figured out the score early on. I had to. Otherwise it breaks you eventually."

"I'm getting that," James said, looking out at the darkness overhead, the destruction.

The soldier glanced at him, smiled lightly. "Da Silva," she said. "Warrant officer Rose Da Silva. Who knows, Mr. Sunderland—maybe I'll be taking you up there sooner or later."

"You're a pilot?"

"Well, right now I'm just a chauffeur. Speaking of which, here's our stop."

They parked in front of a pet shop that had been converted into a temporary shelter like the video rental store. Inside, people sat crying, speaking in hushed whispers, trying cell phones and radios with limited success. Mary walked in, looked around. "Mom?" she said. "Dad? It's me. I'm here!" An older couple appeared near the back, and they burst into smiles upon seeing their daughter.

"Thank goodness!" Mr. Shepherd cried, embracing Mary. "We were so worried!"

"I'm fine," said Mary. "They're going to take you back to the shelter where I am. It's safer, closer to the army. You'll be better off there." She paused. "What about Maria? Is she with you?"

James stood at a distance, watching them, when a dry, bitter laugh turned him around. "Maria," he said tersely. She was thinner than when he'd last seen her, in a simple black shirt and jeans. Her arms were folded, a cigarette between her fingers. Her hair was free of the bleach—now it was the same shade of brown as Mary's, and the resemblance was uncanny.

"Look at that," she said. "Not a care in the world about me. Just goes straight to them."

James said nothing. She dragged from the cigarette. "You're looking good, though, James. Staying trim. Staying proper. I guess having her around would do that to you."

"I'm not here to argue, Maria," he said, not looking at her. "Besides, you should be happy that your sister's alive."

"Alive? She should be dead." She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's a joke, the two of us—Mary and Maria. What the fuck were they thinking naming us like that? It's not cute, it's just . . . gross. We couldn't be anymore different."

"You're right," said James.

Mary walked up to them. "They're just going to get some stuff," she said. "Then we can go." She turned to Maria, who looked over her, grinned.

"What do you want, Mary? Come to rub yourself in my face? You're alive—big deal."

Mary said nothing, and then she pulled Maria into a hug. The other girl gasped in surprise; Mary held her. "Please come with us, Maria," she said. "You'll be safer. Please." She stepped back, stared into her eyes. "I'm sorry, for whatever I did, for however you feel. Look outside—are we really going to keep doing this? Please. I'm asking you to come with us. You're my sister, and I love you, and that's not going to change."

Maria was silent. She threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under her boot. "I'll go," she said flatly before brushing past her sister and going outside. Mary followed her.

"Should I ask?" said Da Silva, coming up behind James.

He shook his head. "No—but maybe as bad as it is, some things can still get better."

* * *

The lobby of the hospital was crowded and messy, people crying and moaning on stretches, on blankets, on mattresses, nurses and doctors and medics and soldiers attending to them. Children stood helplessly, without mothers, without fathers, without anyone. Shaky hands stitched up wounds; sweat-stung eyes focused on bloody, bodily cavities; hand pumps inflated and decompressed; syringes broke skin, filled with blood, emptied out desperate amounts of morphine, of penicillin, whatever was on hand, whatever could keep someone going for another day, another hour.

"Jesus," Henry muttered, his face a mixture of fear and disgust. "This is all because of the demons?"

"It was the little fuckers," one of the soldiers escorting him said. "They attacked people, butchered 'em. And then you have others stuck in wreckage, some with burns, some with broken bones. The worst are the ones that lost arms and legs. With everything happening, can't get them the care they need."

"Jesus fuck."

"Okay, kid, let's get going."

They went up to the second floor, passing hurried nurses and doctors, passing people on crutches, in wheelchairs. "We got your dad special attention," said the soldier as they approached the critical ward. "He's getting the best we got."

They entered the ward. Patients were in beds, surrounded by medics, by frightened, wailing family and friends. The soldier pointed Henry to the end of the ward, to the last bed by the window. He walked over slowly, and then finally saw his mother Vicky there—she was sitting over the man in the bed, a stout woman, eyes red, hands trembling. Henry stopped by the bed, for a moment unable to recognize the man in the bed. He was pale, stiff, his hair almost entirely gray. He looked old, unbelievably so. And then Henry gradually saw his father in the man, saw the stern face, the same look of disapproval. He just—he looked so _old_.

"Henry?" Vicky stared at him, caught between crying and laughing. "Henry, oh my god! Oh my little boy!"

"Mom," he said, coming over to her, putting his arms around her. "I made it."

"Oh, Henry! I didn't know—I tried calling, I tried—I just—"

"It's okay," he said. "I'm here. I made it." He looked her over. "What about you? You okay?"

"I'm—I'm fine." She turned to her husband, raised a hand to preempt another wave of tears. "But Will—" She couldn't contain it in time, couldn't stop it. "One of those things," she sobbed, "one of those things tried to—tried to—"

Henry caressed her arm. "I get it. You don't need to talk." He leaned over the bedside, his hands on the railing lining it. "Will?" he said, and then, with more effort, "Dad—it's me. Henry."

Slowly, Will opened his eyes. He struggled to focus on the faces around him; he looked from Vicky to the soldiers to Henry blankly. Then, gradually, the recognition came into his eyes. "Henry?" he croaked. "That you?"

"Yeah," said Henry. He tried hard to keep his face straight, to be as nonchalant as possible, but it was difficult. "You gonna chew me out again, old man? Let's just hear it already. I was too late? I fucked up again?"

"Henry," said Vicky. "Henry, please."

"Well?" asked Henry. "You got anything to say?"

Will fought to speak. "You're safe," he said with difficulty. "I'm just happy you're safe."

Henry was silent, the words taking the fight out of him. The resentment vanished, the anger faded—all he could see was his father, old and weary, taken down, reduced, fundamentally _less_. And then it was all coming out—the horrors he had seen, the dead, the wounded, the destruction, Velasquez in that dark subway, blood bubbling up her throat, the others Sullivan had killed, and Eileen, Eileen kissing his brow in the dark, Eileen stroking his hair, Eileen holding on to his arm, Eileen laughing, Eileen making some stupid joke, some goofy face, Eileen, Eileen, Eileen.

It all rushed out, the floodgates down—more than down, _destroyed_—and he couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop sobbing, couldn't stop wailing. Vicky instantly held her son, cradled him as the weight brought him down. Will took hold of Henry's hand and squeezed it, squeezed it as tenderly as he did when Henry was a boy, when he was just a small child with messy hair and a gap-toothed grin, a camera in his hands.

* * *

Blackwood stood at the head of a conference table in the small tent, a single light bulb above him, an electric fan rotating from side to side in the corner, whirring noisily. Behind him was a blackboard, already covered in diagrams representing the city, circles around streets, lines drawn to and from buildings. He tapped a piece of chalk upon the table, pensive, eyes down.

Heather walked in, followed by Claudia. "Hey," she said lowly. "You wanted to see us?"

"Yes," he replied, gesturing to the chairs. "Have a seat, Miss Mason, Miss Wolf." They pulled two chairs out and sat. Blackwood watched them, still just as thoughtful. "I informed Miss Galvin's parents," he said. "It was difficult, but it's done."

"Thanks, I guess," Heather said. "Maybe it should've been me."

"We need you clearheaded," Blackwood said. "We need you whole. I know it must hurt, but you need to stay focused."

"I know, I know. You don't have to worry about me."

The tent flaps parted, and in walked Alex and James. Da Silva came in behind them. "General Blackwood," she said, saluting. He nodded, motioned for her to stand beside him.

"Elle won't be joining us," Alex said. "She's taking the news about her mom pretty hard." He took up a spot in the back, folded his arms. "It's hard to imagine. Mrs. Holloway? Part of the Order?"

"It's true," James said, taking a seat. "I saw her with my own eyes. Henry did, too. She killed Eileen. She let that demon loose."

Blackwood turned to the boys. "And you saw how she summoned that demon? That's information we could use."

"It was some triangle," came a voice from the entrance. They all turned; Henry walked in, head down, and sat across from Heather. "She cut Eileen's throat. She bled on the thing, it opened, and there you go. All this shit." His voice was low, muted. Heather studied him, tempted to say something comforting, but thought against it.

"Mr. Townshend," Blackwood greeted. "If what you say is true—"

"It is," said Henry, "and it doesn't matter. We don't have the thing, and even if we did, we wouldn't know how to put the demon back."

"Yes," Blackwood said, "in which case, all we can do is find a way to destroy UDP01." He stood straight, cleared his throat. "Now that everyone is here, we can figure out how to do exactly that. The last twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind for all of us, and some of you may be wondering why you've been treated as you have. I'll put it plainly: for better or worse, you kids are our best chance at stopping UDP01. After the demonic outbreaks several months ago, we started compiling data on everyone related to Princess Heart. We don't have all the details, and I'm not interested in prying, but I'm in charge of this operation, and you all are my most valuable sources of information. You're the most experienced."

"Experience doesn't have shit to do with it," Henry said. "You kill 'em or they kill you."

"Yes, but the question is how to _kill_ them. We've tried conventional weaponry, and it works, after a fashion. But we've also seen what Princess Heart can do, and there's no questioning the results."

He turned around to the blackboard and drew a large circle in the middle of the crude map. "No doubt you've all seen the chrysalis where UDP01 went down. It's exactly what you suspect—it's still alive, either recovering or changing, we don't know."

"It's hibernating?" James said. "How much time do we have before it comes back?"

"We're not sure. We have an estimate—maybe in the next ten to twelve hours—but it could be sooner, it could be later. Again, we have no idea what we're dealing with. Even Miss Mason told me this demon is more powerful than anything she's faced."

"Even the god thing?" Henry asked. "You beat that, Mason."

"That was different," Heather said. "That wasn't a demon—it was Claudia. Once I got her out, the rest of it just died. She was like its heart. But this thing? It doesn't have anything like that. Only way to kill it is to use brute force."

"You put it down once," Alex said. "You can't do that again?"

She put her hands together, shook her head. "I don't know. I had to go Super Princess Heart to even do that much, and I can't control that. It took Claudia to get me there."

"Say Mason could do it again," Henry said. "Hit it like she did before. It'll just go back to sleep and come back later. If you can't kill it in one hit, you're screwed."

"And we can't hit the cocoon," Da Silva added. "Everything just bounces off."

"What about when it's not in the cocoon?" James said. "You can't hit it with missiles? Or from cannons?"

"UDP01 generates electromagnetic interference," said Blackwood. "As I'm sure you've noticed, nothing electrical works within a certain range. That means any response on our end is limited. We simply can't get close enough to attack, and any warheads we do fire could malfunction, go awry, any number of alternatives."

"Then fuck it," said Henry. "Drop a nuke. Blow everything."

"If only it were that simple," Blackwood said with a sigh. "A nuclear warhead would produce collateral damage on a scale we can't even anticipate. The United States would be dealing with the fallout for years, for generations. Given the proximity of Ashfield to other population centers, the long-term damage could be catastrophic. And, provided UDP01 still lived, it would have been an enormous waste."

A heavy silence overtook the tent. "I guess that's it," Alex said after a moment. "Heather can't beat it, and you can't hit it with anything strong enough. It's impossible."

"Maybe not," said Da Silva. "Sir, if we can get rid of the EMI around the demon, then we'll have free range to hit it with everything we have. Princess Heart can finish it off after that."

"How?" James asked. "How do you get rid of the interference?"

More silence—and then Heather took out her pocket mirror and dropped it on the table. "The Seal of Metatron," she said. "Maybe it can do it."

"How?" asked Blackwood.

"Whenever I've been in trouble," Heather said, "the Seal saved me. It gave me a power boost, it gave me a new power—something happened that kept me in the fight. It . . . responded to me, I guess. It turned into whatever I needed. Maybe I can use it against the demon. Maybe I can generate my own field, something that'll take out the electric, uh, the—"

"The EMI."

"Right. The EMI. Then, when it's gotten rid of, you blast it back to hell."

Blackwood paced, a hand around his chin. "Do you have an idea how you would do it?"

"I think so. Look, it was Claudia that brought me back, made me go Super Princess Heart, right? She made me stronger? It's always happened when I really needed it, or when my friends were in trouble."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I need my friends." Heather looked to Claudia, to the others. "You guys can make me stronger."

Henry let out a rough, bitter laugh. "You're kidding," he said. "The power of friendship? Fuck me in the ass, Mason, seriously. That's not even anything real."

"It's possible," she said. "Claudia, what did you feel when you were down there with me? What was going through you? What were you trying to do?"

"I don't know," said Claudia. "I was just—I was praying that you would come back, that you'd be okay. I was really hoping, I was—"

"You were believing," James finished. "She believed in Heather. She believed in her so much that it was enough to get through to the Seal, and it worked a miracle."

"Oh, fuck me," said Henry. "James, really?"

"Henry, how many times did we see Eileen pull off a win in Silent Hill based on how much she believed? There has to be something to it."

Alex shrugged. "Could work, Henry."

"You guys are out of your mind. Friendship? Heart? Really? Fucking _really_?"

"General," said Heather, standing, "don't listen to Townshend. He has a habit of being a whiny, crybaby bitch, but I'm telling you this from experience. Princess Heart's powers are the fairies' powers, and they don't work like anything in our world. They're all about emotions and feelings and hoping. If we all come together, if we believe, I know we can do it. This'll work—you just have to have a little faith."

Blackwood stood silent, contemplative. Henry raised a hand. "Say I'm full of shit, and this works," he said, "anyone positive we can blow the thing up? Mason can't do it, and you don't have anything that won't blow up all of the country, either."

"I think we do," said Heather, sitting. She pushed the pocket mirror forward. "We blow up the Seal."

"_What_?"

"Listen. The army goes in, shoots the demon down. It tries to sleep again. I focus on the Seal, overload it, and drop it into the egg as it's forming. It blows, the demon dies. End of story. Imagine what I did as Super Princess Heart, but ten times that."

"But wouldn't that be like a nuke?" James asked. "We'd be back to square one."

"No," she said. "The magic would only hurt the demons—it's not like a bomb, it doesn't just destroy things, but it kills demons, that's for sure. It shouldn't hurt anyone. Besides, the egg will hold it in, right? It can work."

Henry leaned forward. "Don't be stupid, Mason," he said. "If you get rid of that thing, you won't be able to turn into Princess Heart anymore. And we need Princess Heart, especially if that fucking monster doesn't die. It's too big a risk."

"What other choice is there, Townshend?" she asked. "It'll just keep coming back, and we can't fight it forever. So we might as well just throw everything we have at it." She turned to Blackwood. "General? What do you say?"

He considered, his eyes closed, his hand still stroking his chin. "Everything we have is a gamble," he said finally. "We'll proceed with the rest of the plan at first. Miss Mason's friends will amplify her power and let her neutralize the EMI. We'll conduct a massive strike against UDP01 and hopefully terminate it. If not . . . then Miss Mason can go through with her plan."

"You can't," said Henry. "We're fucked if it lives through all that."

"If it succeeds, then we won't need Miss Mason's power anymore," Blackwood said. "If it doesn't, then we already used everything we had. It won't matter at that point."

"Oh, bullshit. What about having faith? What about believing? Mason, as long as you're Princess Heart, you can keep fighting. We can power you up, right? We can beat it that way!"

Heather picked up the pocket mirror, shrugged. "I couldn't finish it before," she said. "How much stronger do I have to get to actually kill it? How long do you want to keep going like this, Townshend? We need to end it now."

"Whatever. It's a risk, and it could blow up in our face."

The silence returned, uneasy now, unresolved. Quick footsteps drew their attention to the entrance of the tent, and several soldiers came inside. They fumbled with their weapons, threw up messy salutes.

"At ease, gentlemen," Blackwood said. "What do you need?"

"We found two suspicious individuals near the UDP, sir," one of the soldiers said. "A man and a woman. We think they're the ones we heard reports about before."

"It's them," Henry said. "Elle's mom and that other asshole. The ones that killed Eileen and freed that demon in the first place."

"Well, then." Blackwood led the way out of the tent. "Let's hear what they have to say."

* * *

Margaret Holloway sat in the kitchen of a nearby restaurant, her hands cuffed to the back of the chair she was sitting in. It was cramped in the kitchen, old ovens, stoves, racks, and cabinets imposing themselves on the space. Two guards stood at the door like statues. She sat calmly, patiently, expression unchanging even when Blackwood walked in with Henry, Heather, and James in tow.

"Hello," said Holloway, smiling. "I was wondering when you would come see me."

Blackwood raised the heavy, black triangular prism in his hands. "We don't have much time," he said, his tone measured. "My men said you had this with you. I've also been told this contained the demon out there. Is all of that true?"

"Yes," she said.

"Alright. Either you tell us how to return the demon into this contraption, or you do it yourself. The longer we wait, the more lives we put at risk."

Holloway breathed in deep, shrugged. "Yes, that is true. Unfortunately for you, Flauros will reawaken soon. And when he does, he will be angry."

Blackwood did not flinch. "So you won't capture the demon?"

"Why would I want to do that? I let him out for a reason."

"And what reason is that?"

"The same reason the sun rises and sets," she said. "The same reason the coyote kills the deer, the lion mauls the antelope, the wolf tears out the elk's throat. Predators need prey, and what better predators are there but the demons? The most formidable life. The most dangerous killers. Better than us in every way imaginable. More resilient, more deadly, more adaptable. They deserve a chance to be put into conflict, to evolve, to become even more capable."

"She's fucking crazy," Henry said. "Fucking batshit."

"Not at all," said Holloway. "Dahlia was crazy, convinced that she was ushering in some sort of paradise. I have no illusions about what she was trying to do, about what I'm trying to do. The demons will come, and they will slaughter and kill and eat. But that's how it should be. We humans don't have a right to live on this planet any longer. We're complacent, content—eager, even—to just sit and waste and gorge ourselves on food and sex and alcohol. We feed ourselves on media, on television, on porn and smut. We're not the highest form of life—we're the lowest. Our intellect has brought us so far down, we're the basest of the base."

"Just tell us how to kill it," Heather said. "It's not too late."

"Oh, but it is too late. Flauros can't be killed. He can't be stopped. It doesn't matter how much you try, Princess Heart. You'll never beat him." She laughed. "How is Curtis, by the way? Is he begging for his life?"

"Forget this shit." Henry turned to go. "She's not gonna talk, man."

"No," said Blackwood. "Not to us, at least. But maybe to someone closer to home."

They left, and a moment later, Elle walked in. Holloway grinned upon seeing her. "Elle," she said. "What a surprise. I'm sure they've told you a lot."

"They didn't need to tell me anything," she said, her face tight, her voice cold. "I just heard everything you said, but maybe I shouldn't be surprised. You were always like that—everything was just numbers to you. That's how you were with me, with Nora. With _Nora_, Mother! All she ever wanted was a smile from you!"

"Nora is a child," Holloway said. "What does she know?"

"She knows how she feels," Elle replied. "_I_ know how I feel. I was always trying to impress you, to make you proud of me. God, anything would have been worth it. But you just . . . you were just never there. You were somewhere else, so removed from us." She sniffled, fought back some tears. "I guess I know where you were now."

"Pride?" scoffed Holloway. "Look at yourself. Crying and shaking like a twig. You're too soft, Elle—your sister's even softer. You expect me to be proud of that?"

"I expected you to be a _mother_!" Elle snapped. "I expected you to be a human being! People are dying out there! They're getting ripped apart! Don't you care at all? Doesn't it bother you?"

Holloway was silent, but her smirk betrayed her. Elle shut her eyes, clenched her fists. "At least tell me," she said. "What were Nora and I to you? What was Dad?"

"I'll tell you," Holloway said. "I owe you that much—you are my flesh and blood, after all." She raised her head, eyes steely, the smirk only getting wider. "I needed a cover. A family and job, those did nicely. Your father was a simple, modest, stupid man—but he was devoted to me. He never once questioned me, never once expressed even a single trace of a critical thought. He was perfect—dumb, malleable, subservient.

"And then you were born. A little ball of meat and bone. You were disgusting to look at, crying and shitting all the time. You never stopped crying. How many times did I stand over your crib, so tempted to just smother you, or to put my hands around your neck and just press _hard_, so hard that you'd go limp? How many times did I wonder how something so _weak_ and so _pitiful_ could fall out of _me_?

"But I nursed you. I raised you. I gave you food and shelter even after your father died. You _and_ your simple, modest, stupid sister. Not out of compassion or love—how could I _ever _love such needy, sentimental, mindless girls?—but necessity. You were liabilities, but also my cover. My disguise. And then one day, very recently, I didn't need you anymore. So I let you go. And now here we are. Everything where it should be."

The words fell between them, settled. Elle stared straight into her mother's eyes, her own no longer teary, but hard, hard and focused. "You're going to die," said Elle finally, with no emotion, no anger, no hatred, no resentment. She spoke with absolute, clear certainty. "You're going to die, and no will cry over you. Those things out there will rip you apart. They'll take off your head, and then your arms, and then your legs. And they'll do it slow, just like they did to the others. And one day when I have my own kids, they'll never know who their grandmother was, or where she came from, or what her dreams were. She won't exist anymore. I won't even remember her. Nora won't, either."

She turned, placed a hand against the doorway. "And I _will_ have kids, and they _will_ grow old and happy. You know why? Because your fucking demon is going to die tomorrow, and I'm going to help Heather kill it."

She left.

* * *

"I don't know shit!" Curtis said. "Seriously, I don't know anything! She's the one that planned it all. I just . . . fuck, I just went on with it 'cause what else was I gonna do? You want to be on the winning side, right?"

"Too bad that side belongs to that demon," Blackwood said, "and that demon only." He was interrogating Curtis in an isolated tent back at the main campsite. Heather, meanwhile, had returned to the apartment she shared with Claudia. She had managed to convince the escorting soldiers to wait while she went upstairs. Miraculously, the apartment had avoided any damage at all—furniture was overturned, and the windows had been shattered, but she had expected demolished walls and large, oblong holes in the floor and ceiling.

She tiptoed through the dark, dusty kitchen, passed a hand over the refrigerator. There was an old note Claudia had left underneath a magnet—a list of groceries she'd expected Heather to buy, probably—but then there were pictures. She traced her fingers down them: her and everyone else at the surprise birthday party they'd thrown for her at Good Ol' Days, her arms wrapped around Eileen and Claudia; a surprise selfie she took of her and Claudia; one of her and Eileen drinking beers at Bar Ashfield; a fourth of her and Eileen playing with Heather's dog Chip in the backyard.

She plucked off the pictures, slid them into her pocket. In the bedroom, she grabbed a couple of bags out of the closet and started stuffing clothes into them, one for her and the other for Claudia. Claudia's textbooks were still on the bed, and looking at them made her think of the kiss, how awkward it had felt. Even now she wasn't sure to think of it, of what to do next, but it didn't matter. Tomorrow came first, and then everything after that.

She set the lamp straight, turned it on, and smiled at the warm, yellow glow. There was one more thing she needed, one more picture, and there it was, taped right above her pillow. She reached out, peeled it off, admired it. It was her and her father vacationing in Chicago, standing in front of Lake Michigan. They were both buttoned up in dark coats, the sky a clear blue behind their heads, their cheeks and noses red from the cold. Harry had his arm around his daughter, and both were smiling. She remembered the day, remembered the wind, remembered him talking about the lake, about how it had inspired one of his books. She passed her thumb over his face, held it there.

Back at the camp, she walked over to the railing overlooking the street and stared off at the egg. The pulsating was more rapid than before, the bright orange light fading and then growing, fading and then growing. She threw her arms over the railing, closed her eyes, tried to enjoy the light, warm wind—tried to imagine it was the same wind from that day in Chicago, tried to imagine the clear blue sky, tried to imagine her father beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

"There you are," said a voice behind her. "Where'd you go?"

She opened her eyes, turned. Henry was beside her, his own eyes trained on the egg, on the distance beyond it—the darkness, the black, clouded sky. She looked back ahead. "I went back to my place," she said. "Got some clothes. Honestly, I'm getting real sick and tired of wearing this army shit."

"You look fine," said Henry. "You girls baffle the shit out of me sometimes. Don't even know when you look okay."

"Thanks. I guess."

"Don't mention it." He smiled. "You know, Mason, I meant what I said when I saw you earlier. I _was_ really glad to see you. The world goes to hell—seeing a superhero kind of brightens your day."

"I try," she said, puffing her cheeks out. "Not a very bright day, though."

"No. Dark as fuck is what it is."

They didn't say anything for a while. There was just the low wind, the bustling behind them at the camp. Henry raised his camera. "I wanted to show you something," he said, switching it on. "Eileen took all these dumb pictures she wanted to show you when she got back. Figured I'd show 'em to you since she can't."

He handed her the camera. Heather thumbed through the pictures, saw a giant cinnamon roll Eileen ate for breakfast one of the days, saw Tina and Eric's house, saw several pictures of the sky, of trees, of grass. "That's one thing I gotta give you, Townshend," she said, returning the camera. "At least you can actually take a decent picture."

"She's learning," said Henry, and then paused, pain flashing across his face. "_Was_ learning. She would've taken some great ones eventually. She had a good eye." He turned the camera off, hung it back around his neck. "You know, Mason, she never stopped talking about you. Heather this, Heather that. Got kind of annoying after a while. Man, sometimes I wished she'd just shut up, give me some peace and quiet."

"She was the same way about you," Heather said. "Henry this, Henry that. She was always going on about how good-looking you were, or your fucking mystique or some stuff like that. I swear, I just wanted to strangle her, you know? 'Shut the fuck up about Henry Townshend!' I wanted to say—or did say, actually. I said that a lot. 'He's a loser! He's a fucking asshole!' But she never listened. She'd just keep talking."

She smiled sadly, chuckled. "She really, really liked you, man. What am I saying—she loved you. She wanted to spend her whole life with you, wanted to go on crazy adventures. This last summer was I think the happiest I'd ever seen her, spending time with me and you and James and everyone else. She was just so glad to have so many friends."

Hesitantly, Henry placed a hand on her forearm in some form of reassurance, of comfort. "She loved you, too," he said softly. "With all her heart."

Her other hand found his, clasped it. "I was so stupid," she said, her voice trembling. "I was jealous of her, mad at her. For some reason I thought she was leaving me behind. I was just—pissed. Why did my dad die, why did I get left behind, and why did she get so much instead? It was this thought in the back of my head, and I hated it. And now she really is gone, and I just . . . I just didn't get to see her, I didn't get to tell her how much I fucking love her."

"Me, neither," Henry said. "I should have. Every day. Every hour. I should have."

"Fuck." Heather let out a long, strained sigh. "It's all bullshit, you know that, Townshend? First my dad and now Eileen? Hell, you know, I almost died out there. Those things chewed me up, spat me out, left me on the street like some run-over dog. Maybe it would've been better to have just died. To have just gone up there. I'd get to be with 'em."

"No," said Henry. "They're with you, Mason. It doesn't matter if they're dead. They're _with_ you. And you're alive. And as long as you're alive, you gotta keep living. You don't have a choice—not as long as you're Princess Heart."

He stepped back, took one last look at the darkness. "Tomorrow we die or we put that son of a bitch in the ground forever. You got it in you for one last go, Heather?"

"Yeah," she said, turning to him, her tears dry, her eyes hard and determined. "I'm Princess Heart. I'll always have it in me for one last go."

"Glad to hear it." He threw a thumb over his shoulder at the camp. "Let's go back. To the others."

She nodded. "Right." And as they went back, she spoke.

"It's Cheryl."

"What?"

"My name," she said. "It's Cheryl. Not Heather."

"Cheryl," he said, and laughed. "Well, you'll always be Mason to me."

They returned to the camp. In the ensuing hours, as some of them slept, as some of them worried, as some of them hoped, the egg cracked, and red eyes opened.

**END EPISODE 03**

**Blood ebbing out.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	4. The Big One! Everyone Versus Flauros!

Eileen woke up.

She was confused, her arms stretched beyond her head, her legs spread apart, in the same crab position she usually slept in when she was very relaxed. She moved her head, squinted her eyes. A pair of glass balcony doors let in light, wind, and the smell of salt, the caw of gulls. She felt something soft but firm underneath her head. A pillow. She was lying on a bed with golden sheets in a room with white walls and white carpet, apparently close to some beach, to some sea.

She sat upright, looked down at her clothes: a clean white blouse, unbuttoned at the cuffs and at the midriff, and a pair of fresh, dark jeans. They even smelt clean, as if recently washed. _She_ smelt clean—she raised her arm, sniffed at her armpits, touched her frizzy, soft hair. No BO, the scent of ocean breeze she liked so much. She took a shower?

She got up. It was a hotel room, equipped with a sleek, flat-screen television and an accompanying stereo and soundbar with massive speakers and subwoofers. There was a minibar and kitchenette, all glossy and enameled, with rows of different champagnes, liqueurs and rums, all ordered by size and type. Glasses hung above them, all sparkling, all clean. She walked over to the kitchenette and threw open the refrigerator and pantry, found them filled with all sorts of various foods, filled with slices of has and roast, with chunks of chicken and lamb, with vegetables and fruits, with breads, with jellies and jams, with cakes and soufflés and flans.

She went out to the balcony, looked out over the shining, totally blue ocean. Down below were pools, were deck chairs and umbrellas, all white, all the vanguard to some yellow, nameless shore that stretched on for what seemed like miles in both directions.

"Holy shit," she uttered, captivated, amazed. And then her eyes became huge; her grin became giant. "_Holy shit_."

She turned on the television, flipped through music videos and porn and action movies. She rocked out to the stereo, violently strumming an air guitar and headbanging. She jumped up and down upon the bed, threw the sheets and pillows around, made drinks, danced, played video games, ate messy sandwiches and put together enormous ice cream sundaes. Finally, exhausted, she was filling her mouth with whipped cream and chocolate syrup when someone knocked at the door.

"Bwuh?" She looked up, cheeks out, mouth full. "Whait, I'm cwoming." She stumbled to the door, wiped her mouth and chin with her sleeve, opened it. "Yeah?"

On the other side, in a denim jacket and jeans, was the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen—a pale beauty with long black hair and striking, fierce blue eyes. "Whoa," said Eileen, momentarily taken aback. "Uh—hi?"

The girl smiled. "Eileen," she said, taking her hand, "it took me a long time to find you." She walked in and eyed the mess Eileen had made—trash on the floor, splatters in the kitchen, torn pillows and ripped sheets. "I see you made yourself at home."

Eileen giggled nervously. "Yep," she said. "Sure did. It's just, like, no one was around, and, I don't know, I didn't really go outside or anything. There was just all this _stuff_ here—"

"It's okay," the girl said, moving behind the minibar and picking up a champagne. She turned the bottle over, admired the shine of the glass and the sparkle of the bubbles. "All of this was for you. It's your fantasy. Heather prefers a grassy field, if I'm not mistaken. Something simpler than this, at least."

As she plucked out a glass, Eileen stared. "Fantasy? What are you talking about? And what about Heather? You know her? Where is that cuntarosa?"

The girl stopped, put the bottle and glass down. "Eileen," she said, tilting her head, "how much do you remember? Do you know where you are? How you got here?"

"Uh—no? I just woke up. I don't even remember what I was do—" She paused, winced. "It's like a big headache all of a sudden. What the hell was I doing? Fuck, now that you mention it, where _am_ I?"

The girl approached her, put a hand on her arm. "It's okay," she said. "Sometimes the trauma is too much. The person forgets, or blocks it out. It happens more often than it doesn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"What happened to you," the girl said. "Something happened to you, Eileen, and that's why you're here. That's why you don't remember."

Eileen backed away, narrowed her eyes. "Okay, now you're fucking scaring me. What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

"You know who I am," she said. "My name is Alessa. I am—I _was_—Heather's sister. That was before I died. Now I rule over the realm of the fairies with my mother. That's why I've come to get you."

Eileen blinked once, then twice, then three times. "Alessa?" she said. "But you're dead."

"I am."

"Then how are you here?"

"Eileen." Alessa leaned in close, put on a gentle, reassuring smile. "Eileen, you're dead. You were killed. As a fairy princess, your spirit came here, to this side of the Otherworld. That's why I'm here—to escort you back to the palace to meet with my mother."

"You're—you're joking," Eileen said. She suddenly laughed, snorted. "Seriously, _dead_? That's a joke. You're joking. You're fucking joking."

"Eileen."

"You're joking. You've gotta be fucking joking." But Eileen was already remembering the parking lot. She was already remembering the rompers and their ghastly laughs. She was already remembering the USM campus, the sky, the trees, the way they leaves would work in the fall. She was already remembering Henry and James and the guy with the greasy hair and lopsided eyes and the woman and the weird triangle thing in her hand and the knife and the pleading, the screaming, the absolute hoping against hope that what was about to happen wouldn't happen and she was so scared and holy shit she was _terrified_ and Henry oh God Henry she was trying to be strong trying to comfort him trying to tell him it was okay it was all right he was good he was just so fucking _good_

She shook. Her eyes watered. The flesh of her neck tearing. The way the blood felt as it gushed out, as it left her. The very quick, very sudden numbing, the cold, the loss of sensation. The darkness coming down, the tunnel vision, the blackout. She remembered everything. She remembered absolutely _everything_, every minute detail, every subtle, small nuance. And it was too much. It was simply too much. She heaved. She lost control of her face, of her composure. Her sobs came out loud and panicked. She couldn't breathe. She would have fallen had Alessa not caught her, had Alessa not wrapped her arms around her and held her tight.

"Oh no," Eileen moaned. "Oh no no no no no _no_ please _no_—"

"It's okay," Alessa said, caressing her hair, rubbing her back, cooing into her ear. "It's okay. It's alright. You're okay."

"I'm dead," Eileen said, crying even harder. "Oh my god and Heather and James and Claudia and my parents—fuck, my mom, my dad—oh God and Henry, Henry, oh no _Henry_—"

"It's okay," Alessa continued to coo. "It's okay."

"No no no this can't be happening oh no oh fuck no—"

"It's okay." Alessa rocked her, held her more firmly. She thought of her own death, of the easy parting, the relatively simple acceptance, the quick, almost painless transition. But she had left no one behind, not even Heather, the sister she had hardly been able to know. Eileen? She had been brutally taken, violently wrested away from everyone she cared about, from beauty, from grace, from life itself, so full of potential, so full of energy and action and change and good and love.

As Alessa held her, as she tried vainly to calm her, she found it difficult to suppress her own tears. And if this was the weight of one life, she thought fleetingly, what about all the others? What about the collective loss, the collective end, the futures and dreams and hopes and loves all dashed, all abruptly, horrifically cut to black?

She couldn't help it. Tears stained her cheeks—tears she hadn't felt for a very, very long time.

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 04: The Big One! Everyone Versus Flauros!**

It happened faster than anyone could have expected.

The enormous egg ruptured, crimson light spilling out through the cracks. Within seconds the egg was crumbling into pieces, lights were going out, generators were dying, people were waking and screaming. Heather was up, rushing to the roof where Blackwood already stood. Both of them watched, grim-faced, as two gigantic, leathery wings sprouted from the egg. Longer, curved horns erupted, followed by claws, and then the awful mandible, the burning, bloody eyes. A long tail shot out, its end in the shape of an axe. Flauros emerged at last in its entirety, larger than before, more muscled, its flesh black, no longer its former meaty red. Its ensuing roar shook the city, toppled over lights, sent cans and bags and other supplies falling. Parents and children huddled in each other's arms; babies shrieked; soldiers stood guard, trembling, barely able to hold onto their weapons. Holloway sat in the abandoned kitchen, listening with delight.

"My beautiful, beautiful Flauros," she said. "Go! Take your vengeance! Kill them all!"

The demon rose up into the sky, its giant wings flapping, and then took flight. The remaining Tuberculosis demons followed after it, formed a great horde around their progenitor. Heather watched them go, watched them get further and further away. "Where are they going? General? Where the hell are they going?"

Blackwood followed her gaze, and then quickly turned back and barked out orders. "Get those generators back online! I want eyes on the UDP within the hour!" He stared at the terrified soldiers, technicians, and medics, all of them stricken by the sight. "What are you doing?" he shouted. "Get moving! Every minute we waste is another minute it has to kill! _Go_!"

His words finally registered. Everyone bolted into action. He turned back to Heather. "Miss Mason. Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Hell yeah. Let's finish this."

* * *

Lights started blinking out across New York City. People pointed and muttered. They raised their cameras and phones, recorded brief glimpses of the behemoth flying through the sky before the devices shorted out, before the mutters became screams and the awe became terror. The demon perched itself atop the Empire State Building and unleashed a loud, horrifying roar. The Tuberculosis demons rained down from behind it, swooping through the streets, screeching and cleaving at anyone unfortunate to be in their way. Within minutes the familiar blue lights were rising into the air, were swirling around Flauros. Its tail snaked around the skyscraper; its wings lowered, draped across it. Black rain began to fall from the darkness above.

It had begun.

* * *

Henry entered the hospital ward, freshly outfitted in a clean shirt and leather jacket. Electricity had been restored in the hospital and across most of the city, although there were still dark patches. The re-emergence of Flauros had left the central section of Ashfield in even greater disrepair, but order had been quickly reestablished—fear had departed with the demon and its horde. It was the military that was scrambling, setting up trucks and helicopters, coordinating with other outposts, and making final repairs.

Henry's father was still in bed, and his mother, Tina, and Eric were all around him. Henry approached tentatively. "Mom," he said, then, hesitantly, "Dad. I'm going."

"What do you mean?" Vicky immediately went to her son, eyes wet with frightened, wary tears. "Going where? You have to stay here, Henry! With us!"

"Just because that thing left doesn't mean we're safe," he said. "The army's got a plan to take it out, but they need Princess Heart's help, and she needs us. So I have to go. To make sure that thing stays dead this time."

"Vicky," said Tina, "he's right. Henry was with Princess Heart before, back when this happened in the spring. Honestly, he'll be safer with her than with us."

"But you saw that monster!" Vicky cried. "I'm not sending my baby boy to get killed by that awful thing!"

"Vicky." She turned, surprised to see Will sitting up and speaking so clearly. "If he has to go, then he has to go. Let him."

"But why does _he_ have to go? Why do they need him so badly?"

"Heather needs people that believe in her," Henry said. "That's the only way this'll work. And I'm one of the ones that believe. I have to believe that she can win."

"Henry," said Vicky, summoning her remaining vestiges of strength, "I will not let you go. You're my son—my only son. If you go, you're going to get killed, and—"

"_Vicky_." Will was speaking more fiercely now. He faced his wife, then looked at his son, met his gaze. "Henry is—he's not a kid anymore. Look at him. He's a man. He's already made his choice, no matter what we say." He smiled weakly. "Henry. Do what you have to do."

"I will. Don't worry." Henry turned to his mother, hugged her. "I'll come back, Mom. Count on it." He then hugged Eric and Tina. As he turned away, Eric took his arm.

"Henry," he said. "Remember. We're getting through this. Tina and me, Will and Vicky—we'll be waiting for you, alright?"

Henry looked back, grinned. "Yeah. Got it."

Back at the main camp, James was bidding farewell to his own family. "I'll come back," he said, shaking his father's hand. "I promise."

"I know," said Frank. "I know. You finish this, James. You hear me?"

"I will." James turned to Laura, who was beside their father. "Laura? You know I have to go, right?"

She made a face, looked away. "Whatever, James. You're just leaving again."

"That's not true," he said. "If I don't finish this, if I don't make sure that monster goes away for good, we're all going to be in danger. You and Dad and everyone else." He held out his arms. "Now, do I get a hug?"

She hesitated, still trying to uphold her front, but then tears once again shone in her eyes, and the facade crumbled. She embraced him tightly, burying her face in his chest. "You gotta come back, James," she said. "You gotta."

"I will," he said, kissing her head. "I will."

Nearby, Alex and Elle were departing, as well. "Please don't leave!" Elle's sister Nora cried, clutching the girl.

Elle put on the best smile she could. "I'm coming right back," she said. "I promise. I just have to help my friends, okay? They need me." She stroked her sister's hair. "And once I'm back—then we'll look for Mom. Okay? I'm sure she's . . . I'm sure she's just fine."

"We'll take care of her," Lillian Shepherd said. "It's good for Joshua to have a friend right now, too."

"Please do," Elle said. "You all are my family now. I mean, you always have been."

Joshua came forward, stern-faced. "Alex," he said, "don't worry. I'll make sure nothing happens while you're gone."

Alex chuckled, ruffled the boy's hair. "That's great. You hear that, Dad? Sounds like you don't have to worry about a thing."

Adam Shepherd let loose a small, rare smile. "We'll be fine, Alex. You just be careful out there—the both of you. We can't lose you."

"Right. We'll be back."

Alex and Elle walked outside. "You didn't tell her?" he asked. "About your mom?"

"No," said Elle. "Our mom's dead—she's been dead for a while. She doesn't need to know that. Not right now, at least. Not for a long time."

Alex nodded and squeezed her hand. She squeezed harder in return, needing his support now more than ever. They joined James, who was greeted by Da Silva. "Sunderland," she said, "catch." She lobbed a green bundle his way. "I grabbed it off a buddy of mine. Didn't need it anymore, he said. Figured it'd be a good parting gift."

James unfurled it and saw that it was an olive-colored military jacket, patches on the arms and front, one of them a miniature American flag. "It's nice," he said. "But parting gift?"

"Sure. One of us doesn't come back, at least I gave you something to remember me by, for however long." She pointed to the roof. "The general's waiting for you guys. He wants to go over the plan one last time. Mason and her friend are already up there."

"Henry?" asked Alex.

"Should be coming. He was saying his goodbyes at the hospital."

"We'd better go, then." Alex took Elle's hand. "Come on. Let's see what's up."

Da Silva followed them up. James made to go, as well, when someone called his name.

He turned around. Mary was walking over to him, breathless. "James," she said. "Hold on. I'm going with you."

"What? Mary, listen—"

"No, wait." She composed herself, drew a breath. "The last time this happened, I was stuck in bed thinking I was going to die. I accepted it. I saw that red glow in the sky, and, as scared as I was, I mean—what did it matter? I was going to die, anyway."

"Mary—"

"But I'm alive now, I'm not sick, and—and goddamn it, I'm not going to just sit down and die again. I'm not accepting that. I'm going to live, James. I'm going to help you fight."

James opened his mouth to say something, then sighed and shrugged. "I can't tell you 'no,' can I? It's going to be dangerous. The whole plan's a long shot."

"Everything's a long shot. Right now, all we can do is put our faith in Heather, right?"

"That's right." He reached out and touched her face. "We'll go. Together." They kissed and held each other briefly. Mary laughed.

"You definitely need a shower," she said.

"Maybe when the water starts running again." He put on the jacket, patted it down. "Alright. Follow me—we're up top."

They headed up to the roof. Blackwood was waiting in the small tent where they had held their previous meeting, Da Silva behind him. Heather stood at the end of the table, arms folded, dressed in a white jacket and a new pair of similarly torn jeans. Claudia, Alex, and Elle stood around, as well, and James and Mary joined the circle. "We're here," he said. "Mary wants to go with us. If everything's riding on us supporting Heather, I say we take all the help we can get."

"It's her choice," Blackwood said. "Fact is, if we don't succeed, if Miss Mason can't end that monstrosity, it may not matter whether you stay here or go there. Our recent intel is that UDP01 has invaded New York City. The reports are what you would imagine and worse—take what happened here in Ashfield, in Portland and the rest of Maine, and magnify it tenfold."

"New York?" said Alex. "Why would he move, anyway? What's the point?"

"I couldn't tell you," Blackwood replied. "Our best guess is that the demon used up a lot of his energy to recover during his hibernation period. He may have sought out a bigger population center and started harvesting it."

Elle scrunched up her brow. "Harvesting it?"

"The blue lights," James said. "They're souls. Every time one of those flying demons killed someone, a blue light floated out of the body."

"And the big one took 'em in," Heather said. "He's using the souls to get more powerful. Probably used a bunch to heal in the egg."

Claudia rubbed her arms. "That's disgusting. How horrible."

"Exactly," said Blackwood. "And now he's torn a path from here to New York City. He could be killing hundreds, maybe thousands of people as we speak." He reached behind himself and produced a series of large, grainy, monochrome photographs. "We managed to receive some photos from boots on the ground. The resolution suffered because of the distance, but he's there. You can see him."

Heather picked up one of the photographs, which was a murky mess of black shapes and a gray, blocky skyline—but one shape in the center, a hulking mass bulging out into the sky, couldn't be ignored. "It's like he's making a nest?" she said. "Like a bird or something?"

"All we can do is speculate," Blackwood said, "but it's clear he's taken up residence. As long as he's stationary, this may be our best opportunity to strike."

"Sounds good to me. Let's fuck his shit up."

They all turned, surprised by the voice, as Henry walked in. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Not my fault the hospital's practically across town."

"You're just in time, Mr. Townshend," Blackwood said. "Like I told the others, UDP01 is currently in New York City. Our plan will proceed as we discussed—with the help of all of you, Miss Mason will attempt to generate a field to neutralize the target's EMI. After, we'll coordinate a massive aerial strike and, hopefully, terminate UDP01. In the event we fail, Miss Mason will have a small window to land a finishing blow."

"Or blow up the Seal," she said. "If I can't kill it, that's our last shot."

"That's still our last resort," he said. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"What about all the people?" James asked. "How do we keep people from getting hurt?"

"We're trying to evacuate those we can," said Blackwood, "but I won't lie to you—people will die. The scope is simply too big, our enemy too powerful—it can't be avoided."

"What are you gonna do?" Henry said. "That motherfucker's killed tons of people already. But if we stop him now, we keep more people from dying." He cleared his throat, rubbed his neck. "Now I don't wanna shit on anyone's parade, but how the hell are we even supposed to make this happen? We gotta believe, yeah, okay, fine, but how the fuck do we do that?"

"Just focus on me," Heather said. "I don't know—picture something."

"Picture what? We gotta picture the same thing if it's gonna work. That makes sense, doesn't it? You want to get rid of the electric field bullshit? Why not picture a giant bubble around the demon disappearing, or something? I don't know. Just throwing shit out there."

"It wouldn't hurt," said Heather. "We'll all imagine a giant bubble. I'll try to dissolve it, and you guys focusing really hard on me should make it happen."

"The more we talk about it," Da Silva remarked, "the less I convinced I get."

"It'll work," Blackwood said. "It has to work. Now, we'll be approaching New York City by air. Miss Mason, Mr. Sunderland, Mr. Townshend, and Miss Holloway, you four will be riding with Warrant Officer Da Silva. She's my best pilot, so I know who I'm trusting you to. Mr. Shepherd, Miss Shepherd, and Miss Wolf—you three will be with me. We'll have support, as well, but we need your group as close together as possible in case this process requires physical proximity, so these two units will be at the front of the charge."

Henry slammed a fist into his palm. "Sounds good. So, we ready to go?"

"If there are no questions," Blackwood said, "we'll finish our final preparations. Oh, and kids—whatever happens, have no regrets. I hate to ask this of you, but this is the hand we were dealt. I think each and every one of you knows the score better than I could ever describe it. Failure is not an option, but if we do fail—all I ask is that you find a way to keep going. We can stop this. As you said before, it's only a matter of faith."

"That's right," Heather said. "And I've got all the faith in the world. We can do it." She stuck her hand out. "I was afraid of involving you guys before, and I paid the price for it. I won't be afraid anymore. Together, we're a lot stronger than we are alone."

Henry came forward, placed his hand upon hers. "She's right. We do this together. Princess Heart's more than just a fucking superhero—more than just one person. She's an idea. She's hope. She's the light in the dark. She's all of us and everyone."

James put his hand forth. "She's a miracle."

Alex, and then Elle. "A friend," she said.

Mary joined them. "The future."

Finally, Claudia set her hand down atop the others. "She's love," she said.

Henry smiled. "All the love in the world. Now, let's go! The PH Krew!"

They threw their hands up, let out a yell.

Outside, as Henry made his way to the helicopter, Heather grabbed his arm. "Townshend," she said. "Uh—Henry. Hold up."

He turned around to her. "Yeah? What is it?"

"I . . . I don't know, I just wanted to apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

She shrugged. "Being a super bitch to you, I guess. Back when all this started, back when Selina first came to me, and I became Princess Heart . . . I treated you like shit. You were just another asshole. Some jerk with a big mouth who thought he knew it all. I mean, I guess you _are_ that, but—I should've given you the benefit of the doubt. I think I get why Eileen fell so hard for you. You're just . . . honest. There's no bullshit with you."

She looked into his eyes, totally sincere. Henry simply stared at her, then snickered. "What," he said, laughing, "you gonna fucking propose, Mason? Doesn't seem like the best time, does it?"

Heather clenched her fists, felt her cheeks grow hot. "Listen to me, asshole! What I'm trying to say is that—is that . . . you were the one who never gave up. When I was doubting myself, being a jerk, you were out there at least doing something. And you were always straight about it. You didn't make excuses. You didn't run away."

With shut eyes and a red face, she held out her hand. "It's not fucking marriage, it's just—I don't know! Just . . . thanks. Thanks for getting us this far."

Henry's smirk faded, turned into a simple, serene smile. He took Heather's hand. "It wasn't me," he said, "and it wasn't you. It wasn't James or Alex—it wasn't even Eileen or those two fairy assholes that hung out with you. It was all of us. Together. And it's gonna be that way now, got it?"

He shook her hand—then leaned in, gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Now," he said, "we can keep jerking each other off, or we can go send that shitfuck back to hell. How 'bout it, Cheryl?"

"Oh, just—just fuck off." She pushed him away. "And don't get the front seat—that one's mine." As he walked off, waving, she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Eileen was quiet on the drive from the hotel. They were in some red, hoodless sports car, racing down some nameless highway. Her hair whipping around her head, her eyes watering, both from tears and the wind, Eileen could hardly focus on the ocean view to their left, on the clear sky, on the idyllic, white cityscape. It was all beautiful, but also empty. It was a fantasy, just as Alessa had said—a nice dream, but one lacking the nuance or grit of tangibility, missing the color and detail of authenticity, devoid of the feel and intimacy of reality. And it was, worst of all, _her_ fantasy—but now that she saw it for what it was, now that the illusion was broken, it made her sick to her stomach. It was empty. It was . . . it was dead.

_Dead_. The word clawed at her. She was dead, forever removed from the life she had been enjoying so immensely just a short while before, eternally torn away from the people she cared about. Henry. Heather. Claudia. Her parents. Everyone. She was gone from them all, trapped in some other place, some other plane. And she didn't even know what was happening. There had been that woman, and that strange box—and she had said there was a demon inside. If that demon came out, came out because she was dead, if it was down there on Earth—

"We're almost there," said Alessa, driving. Sunglasses blocked her eyes, kept Eileen from scrutinizing her. This was Heather's mysterious sister, her very own Racer X. And so far she'd fit the descriptions to the bill—beautiful, graceful, and elegant, but also stoic, detached, almost cold. Eileen couldn't blame her, not exactly, but it was hard to open up to this girl, difficult to really relate. She was dead, too, but it almost seemed like she was _happier_ that she was. Maybe, Eileen thought, shit was just the opposite for her—bad on the front end and great on the back.

But soon the road began to vanish, and something else replaced it on the horizon: a glowing, blinding city in the distance. Eileen's depression lifted for a moment. "What's that?" she asked quietly, dumbstruck, and Alessa smiled.

"That," she said, "is the fairy kingdom."

As they approached, Eileen's eyes grew even wider. Massive, widespread gardens lay before the giant crystal gates, filled with all sorts of colorful flowers—rows of reds, whites, blues, and yellows, all full and lush and alive, none of them wilted or sagging or dead. The gates opened as they drove forward, and, once inside, Eileen couldn't suppress the gasp. Streets that were paved silver. Lampposts made of gold. Storefronts and restaurants all filled with the most wondrous, fine clothing, accessories, and food. A bakery with pink cakes and sweetbreads and chocolates. A display window with dresses trimmed in jewels and rhinestones, suits and tuxedos with golden buttons and cufflinks. Plazas with large, ornate fountains, all of them shooting up clean, sparkling waters. And so many fairies in the street, in the stores, in the plazas and at picnics at the parks, all of them human-sized, indistinguishable from regular humans except for the glowing, translucent wings coming out of their backs. It was . . . heavenly, almost. Pure. Like a paradise.

"It's . . . it's beautiful," Eileen said. "It really is."

"It's an eternity of bliss," said Alessa. "Every day full of pleasure and happiness. No despair. No sadness. No desire. No pettiness. We have everything we need, and we have no want. What could we want, after all, when we already have all of this?"

"When you put it that way," Eileen said. They kept driving deeper into the city, and that's when she saw it—an opulent palace, at odds with the modern urban aesthetic of the city, standing majestically at the center of all of it. Stained glass windows told stories of fairy queens and princesses; bells tolled high up in the steeples; sunlight seemed to come down squarely upon the palace and bathe its white brick in a holy glow.

They parked in front of the castle and climbed out. Two sentries, dressed like British royal guards with fairy wings, saluted them. "Princess Alessa!" they cried in unison. "Welcome back!"

"William," she greeted, "Boyle. I've brought our esteemed guest."

The two sentries turned to Eileen and, after a moment, bent their knees. "Princess Eileen!" they proclaimed. "You have finally come back to us!"

"Whoa, whoa," said Eileen, chuckling. "I'm no freakin' princess, guys. Come on, stand up. You're making me nervous."

"It's okay," Alessa said, noticing their anxious faces. "Eileen's only a guest at the moment. Nothing is official yet." She pointed to the great door. "Now, can we go inside? My mother is waiting for us."

"Of course, Your Grace!"

The sentries blew on their whistles. All of the bells tolled at once, and, suddenly, the door to the palace began to open. "Come on," said Alessa, starting towards it. "We shouldn't keep the queen waiting."

Eileen followed her inside, marveling at the high, spacious antechamber and its stained glass windows, at the fresco adorning its ceiling full of angels and fairies and hearts, at the glossy checkerboard tile of the floor. "Holy crap is this place nice," she said, whistling. "It's crazy. And those guys back there? What was that about?"

"You're royalty, Eileen," Alessa told her. "You're a fairy princess. Ever since you passed, the word's been spreading—in secret, of course. Everyone here at the palace has been waiting for you."

"Huh." Eileen tapped her chin, considered this. "So I came here 'cause I'm a fairy princess, but what about everyone else? Where do they go?"

"They go on," Alessa said simply. "They just go. Into the light."

"The light? You mean like heaven or something?"

"I—" Alessa shrugged. "I don't know, Eileen. It's a light, but I don't know what's beyond it. My mother doesn't tell me, but she's aware of it. In any case, you're here now. That's what matters."

"Yeah, but I'm just wondering. You hear about heaven and hell and Zeus and shit and you think you'll know when you die, you know? Then you die, and you still don't know. You're still just as in the dark."

"It doesn't matter now—"

"_Eileen_?"

They both turned, surprised to find a fairy running towards them. "Eileen, it is you!" The fairy threw herself at Eileen and embraced her tightly. "When I heard what happened, I wasn't sure if you'd be coming, but here you are, just like they said!"

"Hold up," Eileen said, pulling away, looking at the fairy. She looked like a girl in her early twenties, with bobbed black hair, a green shirt, and skinny jeans, aside from the pair of wings. She was beaming, exuberant, blue eyes twinkling. Eileen let out a laugh.

"Oh, shit! Selina? Crap, I didn't recognize you, girl!"

"I'm sorry about that," Selina said. "This isn't how I dressed back on earth."

"No, I mean—fuck, you were tiny. Like my thumb, tiny. And now you're, well, you're my size, lol. Never got to really look at you." She smiled. "You're super pretty."

Selina blushed. "I'm not, really. But I do admit I was inspired by the styles you and Heather liked." She twirled around. "I never would have imagined jeans could be so comfortable. They're much better than skirts."

"Selina's been helping us," Alessa said. "Ever since what happened at Silent Hill, the queen promoted her. We owe much of that victory to her."

"You flatter me, Your Grace," said Selina. "But I only helped. Eileen and Heather fought bravely to make sure all of us fairies were saved."

"You shouldn't complain if you're living the good life," Eileen said. "By the way, where's that douche Arthur? How's he doing?"

Selina rolled her eyes. "Arthur is Arthur. He's actually here right now, but he sent me ahead to see if it was really you." She turned, cupped her hands around her mouth. "Arthur! Get out here this instant and say 'hello' to Eileen!"

There was silence in the hall, and then, at the other end, a slim, dark-winged fairy slunk out. Eileen immediately laughed upon seeing him—a purple plaid shirt, torn black jeans, thick, blocky glasses, and a slick, black emo haircut, fully equipped with bangs covering the right half of his face. "Laugh it up," Arthur said, walking over. "Yeah, I'm the big joke. Thanks for embarrassing me, Seline."

"Arthur is a little bashful," Selina said. "He would never admit he liked some of the styles he saw, too. Didn't you, Arthur?"

"Shut _up_, Seline."

"Nah," said Eileen, trying to contain her giggles. "You look good, Arthur. Hella fly. Real gangsta—" She started laughing again.

Alessa took her by the shoulder. "While I can appreciate the reunion, the queen _is_ waiting," she said. Dutifully, Selina nodded.

"You're absolutely right, Your Grace. Arthur, come along. Let's see them inside."

The fairies went on ahead, and Alessa and Eileen followed. They approached another set of large doors, this one also guarded by fairy royal guards. Selina and Arthur stopped before them, saluted. "Princess Alessa has returned!" Selina said. "Her Grace awaits her!"

"All hail the queen!" the guards cried back, saluting in turn. The doors parted, bright light spilling out from beyond them. Eileen hung back, squinting, and then gasped. It was a massive throne room, supported by enormous columns encircled by vines of roses. An inner pond lined the room, filled with fish of varying sizes and colors. Frogs hopped between lily pads; dragonflies zoomed through the air. The vines grew out into branches, and birds chirped and sang and flew to and from the skylights high above. Tall windows let in waves of light on both sides, and the air was heavy with the scents of roses and lavender.

At the far end of the chamber was a huge, pristine throne, its silver and ivory glistening in the light. A crystalline heart, sparkling pink and purple, formed its head. To the left and right of the throne were two attendants, dressed in purple robes, and, on the throne itself, sat the queen. She was a strikingly regal figure in a flowing, shimmering green dress. Long, golden locks rolled down from underneath a shining crown.

She looked on at the two girls and beckoned them forward with a slim hand. Alessa went ahead, and Eileen stayed a step or two behind, looking on in wonder at the throne room. It was like something out of a picture book, like something straight from a fairy tale—which was apt, she thought, considering fairies had no doubt conceived it, had no doubt built it and adorned it. Looking on at the queen, at her gentle grace, her soft features, her comforting presence, it was hard not to feel at ease, not to feel safe and warm. She seemed to exude a motherly aura, a soothing feel. Eileen fought to maintain control, however—she fought to keep her head clear and her eyes and ears alert. It was beautiful, but it was also spectacle.

They stopped some paces before the throne. Alessa knelt, as did Selina and Arthur behind them. The queen laughed. "Alessa, my dear," she said. "You should know by now. There's no reason to kneel before me. I'm no better than you are."

"Your Grace," Alessa said, rising. "I'm sorry. Habits."

"It's alright. And the same to you, Selina, Arthur. I may be your queen, but I am not your lord or master. Please, stand."

The two fairies stood up hesitantly and exchanged glances. Selina cleared her throat, straightened her back. "We're here to serve you, Your Grace," she said. "Whatever you need."

The queen nodded. "I know, and I am grateful." Her gaze fell on Eileen, who kneaded her hands together nervously.

"Sorry, Your Highness," she said, "uh, I mean, Your Grace. Didn't mean any disrespect."

"You did not offend, my sweet," said the queen. "You are my family, Eileen, however we are related. This is your home, just as it is mine and the rest of the fairies." She paused, her smile faltering. "I imagine for you it was not very long ago that we spoke. I am sorry."

"Nah, I mean, yeah. It sucks." Eileen winced. "Err—it blows. I mean, it's bad, yeah."

"Still, you are here now," the queen said. "Do you remember what I told you before? As a fairy princess, you would have to make a decision upon your passing—either you would take your place here in this kingdom, or you would go on and depart into the afterlife."

"Yeah, I remember," said Eileen. "The big light. Alessa was telling me." She looked around briefly, at Alessa, at Selina and Arthur, at the magnificent throne room. "The thing is, Your Grace—I can't do either of those things."

The queen raised her head very slightly. "You can't?"

"No. I mean, okay, I'm dead. I get it. But it's not over. The woman who killed me, she had a box or something. She was a member of the Order, the same guys that trapped all you fairies before. She said that if she killed me, she would free a demon that was inside that box." Eileen drew herself up, looked right at the queen. "I need you to be straight with me. Did she free that demon? What's happening back on earth?"

The queen leaned back, stroked her chin. Alessa stepped forward. "Your Grace," she said, "Eileen is still coming to terms with what's happened. She can't—"

"No," said the queen. "She deserves an honest answer, Alessa. We owe Eileen a great deal." The queen turned back to Eileen, and when she spoke, her voice was low, wistful. "It is as you say. Upon your death, a demon was unleashed upon the earth. Its name is Flauros, and it is one of the Great Ones, one of the oldest, most powerful demons that lurk deep in the bowels of the demonic realm. Human magicians summoned him long ago—many of what you consider centuries have passed since then."

Eileen stood still, slowly taking in the information. "You're serious?" she asked. "That demon's on earth? Right now?"

The queen nodded. She motioned with her hand; the chamber darkened, and a sphere formed before Eileen. In it, she could see the devastation that currently affected New York City. She could see the great winged monstrosity atop the Empire State Building, could see the flying demons slaughtering the populace.

"The humans could not control Flauros' power," the queen continued. "So, in desperation, they entrapped him using our magic. They locked him away in a puzzle box and split the puzzle box into several parts. It was not without a cost, however—in order to seal the box, they required the blood of a fairy princess, one of your predecessors."

"And that's why they needed a fairy princess to undo it," Eileen said lowly.

"Yes. I am sorry, Eileen."

The girl stared into the sphere, her eyes hard at the destruction, her jaw set at the carnage. "He's killing all of those people," she said. "It's a massacre down there. It's like . . . it's like the same shit we stopped before! And what about Heather? What about my friends?"

"She is fighting," the queen said. "Princess Heart is resisting Flauros, along with your world's military forces. But it will be not enough, I'm afraid. The Great Ones are a higher class of demon, an entirely different league. They feed on the souls of fairies and humans alike—they've even been known to consume demons, as well. They continually make themselves more powerful, more tenacious. Every time they are defeated, they simply evolve and adapt. As powerful as Cheryl has become, she will not be able to fend it off for much longer."

"You're lying," Eileen said in shock. She spun around to the fairies. "Selina? Arthur? Did you guys know about this? Did you know this was happening? That's Heather down there! That's Henry! They're all going to die!"

Arthur was silent. Selina averted her gaze. "Eileen, we—we can't do anything. We can't interfere."

"Can't interfere? What the fuck's that mean?" She turned to Alessa. "What about you? That's your sister—those are your fucking people! You were human, too!"

"The fairies can't interfere, Eileen," she said. "We can't. There are boundaries between the worlds for a reason. Humans have killed themselves since they first drew breath, and they've made themselves suffer in all sorts of unimaginable ways, but the fairies have never intervened, they've never made their presence known. The balance we've worked so hard to manage will come undone!"

"Don't bullshit me!" Eileen cried. "This isn't some war, this isn't some human problem! That's one of your asshole demons! That's the Order, the same jerks that kidnapped all of you! They did this!"

"I'm sorry, Eileen," the queen repeated, sighing. "It is out of our hands. When the Order captured us before, that was an exception—humans knowingly meddled with the boundaries. They thought they could control us and the demons, just like those that came before them."

"Yeah, and you helped them with Flauros before, didn't you? Why not help them again?"

"We learned after that that humans could not be trusted," the queen said, her voice rising. Her gentle demeanor changed, became harder, more resilient. "Humans corrupt, Eileen. Their potential for compassion and empathy is too often overshadowed by their tendency towards violence and greed. And we paid for that greed—we lost one of our own, one of our best, in order to correct the mistakes they made."

"Well, you're about to lose another one of your best," Eileen said. "Heather's down there, and maybe she's still human, maybe she's not a fairy yet, but, damn it, she's still fucking fighting! She hasn't given up yet! She's your daughter—Alessa's sister! You promised you'd protect her!"

"I can't," said the queen. "This is not like it was before. Flauros is not a force we can stop, Eileen. The Great Ones cannot be so easily contained, and if it has already transformed—"

"_Stop making excuses_!" Eileen roared. "You were more than happy to help when your lives were on the line, when all the fairies were captured! But now that you're safe, it doesn't matter anymore! You'll just leave all the humans down there to die!"

"How dare you!" said Alessa, bristling. "You can't speak like that to our queen!"

"She's not my queen!" shouted Eileen. "Maybe I have a fairy blood, but I'm still human! I still have a human heart! You did, too, Alessa—you had to have one! And all those people down there, all those humans, they were like you! They're like me! They're losing friends and family and people they care about, just like I did! Just like I _am_!"

The queen was silent, watching Eileen. The girl calmed down, then knelt. She planted her knees on the ground, then her palms. "I don't want to beg," she said, "but if I have to, I fucking will. Your Grace, listen to me. Maybe humans are bad a lot of the time. Maybe we screw up and hate each other and tend to hurt ourselves. I know I have—I've wished people would get hurt. I've carried that in my heart. But we don't _have_ to be that way. We can be better—we can _do_ better. I know that because I've seen it with my own eyes—in myself, in my friends, in all the people around me. I've seen the love all around us. I see it everywhere now, in us, in the trees, in the sky."

She looked up, caught the queen straight in the eye. "And if you won't help humanity, you can at least help me. You can help your daughter. You can help my parents, my friends, my fucking boyfriend. We all pitched in. We all risked our lives for you and your kind. And everyone else who isn't a fairy, they don't get a choice. They just get to go on into some fuck-all light. I mean . . . that sucks, Your Grace. It blows huge chunks. You know it, and I know it."

She stood. "Please. Give them a chance. Give Heather and me a chance. We won't let you down. We can stop him. We can make them better. I know we can. We just need an opportunity. We just need an opening."

The sphere vanished. The throne room lit back up. Eileen waited, breathing heavily, her eyes pleading. Selina and Arthur looked on in anticipation, as did the attendants. Even Alessa looked from the girl to her mother, speechless.

The queen rose from her throne. Her face was grim, stern—and then she smiled. "You are worthy of the blood in your veins, Eileen," she said. "You remind me of my sister. She was sweet and gentle, but she had a ferocity to her, all the same, a conviction I could never match. And she certainly carried more love and compassion within her than I could ever hope to." She paused, her voice growing heavy, her eyes growing distant. "I miss her greatly. She was the one meant to be queen—not I. I have longed to see her again, and now I have."

Eileen caught her breath. "Your Grace—"

"It is not within my powers to restore your life," said the queen, walking down to her, "at least not as long as I remain as I am. I must surrender my own life. There must be a balance."

Alessa stepped forward. "Mother, please—"

"It is all right, Alessa," the queen said, placing a gentle hand upon Eileen's cheek. She caressed it, looked into the girl's large, green eyes. "This is as it should be. This is right. Eileen, listen closely. In order to return to the human world, you will have to journey into the darkness of the Otherworld—the demonic realm. There is a great chasm deep within, one that will lead you back to earth."

"But I'm dead," said Eileen. "I can't go back."

"You can," said the queen, "because you will be alive. And not only will you be alive, but you will be strong. Strong enough, I have faith, to help my beloved daughter." She stepped back, turned to Alessa. "My sweet girl. You have loved me. You have committed yourself to our people, and I am very gladdened by that. You are ready."

"Mother, no!" Alessa reached out to her, tears in her eyes, surprising emotion in her voice. "Please, you—you can't go yet. I'm not ready!"

"You are. You are more ready than you can imagine. But for now, you must ensure that Eileen returns. You must ensure that humanity is given a chance to fulfill their potential—to be what we have always hoped they could be. Take her to the chasm. Protect her, Alessa. Do for your sisters what I could not do for mine."

"Mother—"

"It is decided." The queen returned to Eileen, placed her arms around her. "Be happy, Eileen. And tell Cheryl—I love her very, very much. I love you all."

She kissed Eileen on the brow, and, as she did, she glowed. They all watched, mesmerized, as the queen dissolved into light, as she melted into golden shimmers. The light enveloped Eileen, entwined around her, brightened the room. And when it faded, Eileen was left standing, a light materializing around her wrist, solidifying into a silver morpher with a crystal heart mounted atop it.

The chamber was quiet. Eileen raised the morpher, touched it, closed her eyes. "I won't let you down, Your Grace," she said softly. "I'll live for both of us now." She turned to Alessa, Selina, and Arthur.

"Alright," she said. "Let's rock."

* * *

A group of soldiers escorted Margaret Holloway out onto the street. Another group came from nearby, Curtis in tow. "Curtis," she said, laughing, "you look well. They treated you right, I hope?"

"Shut up!" snapped one of the soldiers, jamming a rifle barrel into her back. "Move! Into the truck!"

They boarded a transport vehicle, Curtis and Holloway seated next to each other in the back. "What's the plan?" Curtis whispered as the soldiers climbed aboard. "Please fuckin' tell me there's a plan."

"Your jacket," Holloway said. "You have some vials left, I hope?"

"'Course. I hid 'em well. Assholes never found 'em."

"Quiet!" ordered one of the soldiers. "Get us moving, Tom! We need to get this done quick!"

They started driving. The ride was rocky, the truck hitting debris in the street and swerving around wreckage. Holloway looked out of the barred window, stared up at the dark sky. Flauros, she thought. Her beautiful, beautiful Flauros. Still in danger. Still in need of protection. Still in need of a caring, nurturing mother.

She turned, looked straight ahead. "Curtis," she said calmly with a sly, little smile, "here is the plan. You will distract them."

"Wha—"

She spoke under her breath, chanted some quick, indiscernible incantation. There was the muffled sound of glass shattering, and then Curtis was screaming, howling in pain, steam rising from his jacket as it corroded, his skin bubbling, ballooning, from one moment to the next gray, then purple, then red. The soldiers yelled, shouted; guns went off. The truck turned hard, tipped over. There was the flash of muzzle fire, the monstrous screams of some massive, bloated, cancerous blob, and then there was Holloway, lying atop the door, blood streaming from a deep gash on her forehead, the black liquid oozing towards her.

She stuck out her tongue.

* * *

Blackwood looked on at the approaching, stormy darkness of New York City. He was in the seat beside the pilot, the helicopter rocking every few moments, rain lashing at the windows, turbulent winds blowing by. Alex, Claudia, and Mary sat in the back. Claudia was quiet and small in her seat, trembling. Mary took her hand.

"It's going to be okay," she said, her own voice shaking. "It's going to be okay."

"I know," mumbled Claudia. "I know. Heather will protect us. She will."

Alex, meanwhile, sat forward. "It's like stuff out of a nightmare," he said. "Like a bad movie. At least it's just CG in a movie, just a green screen. But this? It's real. It's all real."

"It changes you," said Blackwood, "all this desolation." He looked out at the darkness around them, catching the occasional glimpse of the ruined city down below. "I've seen a lot of it in my time, but it was always far away, far removed. In some desert village in the Middle East, for example. In some burnt-out temple. Some small, smoldering village in a jungle. Mothers crying. Young boys with guns in their hands. Girls trucked off to the nearest bidder. You see it all, and it changes you deep inside, but it's never quite like this. You're always going home eventually, always able to lock it away, push it from your memory—but when it's like this, when it's your home burning, your own country on fire, you can't do anything _but_ accept it. It's reality. And every day someone is out there just like us, dumbstruck, not able to process it."

Alex shook his head. "My dad's ex-military," he said. "He'd tell me stories all the time, and when I was a kid, you know, I wanted in on it. I wanted to be a hero. I wanted to save lives. When I told him I was thinking about enlisting, he really nailed me to the cross." He chuckled. "That was the first time in my life I thought he might actually hit me. He was always quiet—strict, but fair. But I'd never seen him get so mad before. I didn't enlist after that. I didn't even think about it anymore."

"No father wants his son to see what he's seen," Blackwood said. "But it'll come. It always does. It'll be your son, Mr. Shepherd, or his. It could be my niece. My nephew. Someone down the line."

In the next helicopter over, Heather, Henry, James, and Elle sat in silence. "Almost there, people," Da Silva said. "Our ETA's in about ten minutes. We can't get too close because of the interference, but that's when it's your show."

Henry put a hand on Heather's shoulder. "Keep it cool, Mason," he said. "Tomorrow we'll be sipping fucking piña coladas and watching the sun come up."

"Make it tequila," Heather said. "Yeah. That sounds good."

"Count me in," said Elle with a faint, nervous smile. "We deserve a nice, long vacation after this."

"Drinks are on me," Da Silva remarked, and then she leaned forward, furrowed her brow. "Wait, something's wrong. I'm losing contact with the others."

Henry looked up. "What's that mea—" Something crashed into the helicopter from above, leaving a giant, ragged hole through which rain poured in. They all turned; a slim, lithe figure arose, gray-skinned and strapped in black leather. Blades protruded from its eyes and encircled its head, and two longer blades extended from the arms, replacing the hands. A black, forked tongue slid out from the mouth.

"Princess Heart," hissed the demon, its ghostly voice tinged with manic glee. "You seem well. Going to kill my sweet Flauros, are we?"

Elle stood up. "_Mother_?"

"Not anymore!" Holloway cried, cackling. "I can feel the blood pumping through my veins, making me stronger, making me better! I am one of them now! I have never felt so alive!"

"She turned herself into a fucking demon," said Henry. "Crazy bitch!"

"Soon demons will be all that are left," Holloway giggled. "And I will watch as Flauros eats all of you!" She lunged forward, tackling Heather straight out of the helicopter, but Heather was already transforming, already emerging from the pink light. "I'm going to kill you, Princess Heart!" Holloway screamed, both of them plunging downward like a bullet. "I'm going to tear you apart, limb from limb! I'll feed you to my sweet myself!"

Heather winced, saw the helicopters spinning out of control, saw the entire lot of them careening and plummeting in the rainy darkness, their tails sliced off, their propellers shredded. She threw a frantic hand out; flimsy pink spheres enveloped the helicopters—enough to keep them from exploding upon impact from the loaded artillery, but not enough to keep them from crashing.

"Mason!" Henry shouted, going to the edge of the hole they had shot out from. "_Heather_!"

"We're going down!" Da Silva cried, pulling on the controls in vain. "We're totally out of control!" She looked back. "Grab on to something! Brace yourselves!"

Elle clutched her seat tightly, curled up beside it. James grabbed a handle, then saw Henry still at the edge of the hole, still staring into the dark. "Henry!" he yelled. "Come on, grab something! Henry!"

But Henry said nothing, his eyes fixed on Heather's disappearing form as she and Holloway crashed onto a roof below. He thought of Eileen's smile, of her eyes, of her hair, of the way she had stared at him, the light fading, her body crumpling, the blood coming out from her soft neck. He thought of the light trailing up into the sky from her body. He thought of Heather, her determined gaze, her strong composure. He thought of seeing her the same way, dying, fading, disappearing.

"No!" he shouted as they spun downward, as the propellers tore into a rooftop, as the rain beat down upon them. "You're not taking another one!"

He jumped.

"_Henry_!" James screamed, watching as the boy flailed and smashed into the glass of a balcony door. Henry rolled into the living room of some high-rise apartment, dazed, bleeding. He struggled up, then started running—and that was the last James saw of him as they hit the street.

Alex was blinking and coughing elsewhere. He touched the back of his head, and his fingers came away slick with blood. "Damn," he mumbled, looking around; he was still strapped into his seat, the helicopter on its side, the weight of its metal and steel groaning. "Mary," he managed. "Claudia! Are you okay?"

"We're out here!" cried Mary, Claudia's arm slung around her neck, the other girl's leg bleeding and broken. "We're getting you out, Alex!"

He turned his head, suddenly saw Blackwood reach in and slice through the straps with a knife. He dragged him out, and that's when Alex saw it: the wreckage of the helicopter, right in the middle of an Apple store. Tablets and phones and other devices and gadgets littered the floor; shelves were overturned, and cracked, dented monitors hung loosely from mounts near the ceiling, tethered only by weak wiring.

"What happened?" asked Alex, standing. "What the hell?"

"We were attacked," said Blackwood, "I don't know by who. It doesn't matter. Warrant Officer Stoner's dead. He was a good man, but we don't have time to mourn him." He knelt down, rummaged through a pile of weapons he had salvaged from the downed helicopter. He passed a rifle to Alex, a pistol to Mary.

"Wait a minute," Alex said. "What are we doing? What about the plan?"

"The plan's finished," Blackwood said plainly. "Now we regroup. Our only chance is to find Miss Mason. We need her alive. She's the only one who can get us out of this now. Now." He took up a rifle of his own and pointed it forward. "Let's get moving."

* * *

Heather rolled, avoided a blade as it came down inches from her head. She kicked away, stood up, faced the demon before her, rain slamming down around them, blue streaks of lightning scorching the sky, the Tuberculosis demons flying in circles above their head, screeching and shrieking.

"You're all alone now, Princess Heart," Holloway said, swaying towards her, blades extended. "I've welcomed this incredible power . . . I've finally evolved! You and the rest of your kind are just too narrow-minded, too shortsighted to see that you've been outclassed! You are on the bottom of the food chain now!"

"You're totally out of your mind!" Heather cried, her pipes appearing in her hands. "You don't know what you've done! You can't come back from being a demon!"

"Come _back_?" Holloway laughed. "Why would I ever want to do that? Why would I _ever_ want to inhabit such weak, paper-thin flesh ever again? I am _invincible_ now! I am _perfect_!" She rushed forward, swiping—Heather deflected the swipes away, tried some of her own, but Holloway was too fast, too nimble. She dodged effortlessly and then struck, slashing Heather across the abdomen, across the back. The girl turned, swung, but then her golden pipe was flying through the air, blood flying from her palm.

Holloway kicked her away. "Dumb bitch!" she said. "You can't even fight me!"

"_Heather beam_!" The twin yellow lasers shout out, but with an easy, quick tilt of the head, they sailed past Holloway harmlessly. Heather got up, ground her teeth. "_Sexy beam_!" Pink, purple, and red blasts flew forth from her eyes, barraged Holloway—but the demon simply moved and flexed and twisted, avoiding each one.

"See how easily I've outmatched you?" Holloway asked. "See how _weak_ you are, Princess Heart? And you expect to defeat my wondrous Flauros that way? How laughable!"

"Fuck you!" Heather cried, running at her, pipe raised. They locked weapons, but Heather was quickly pushed back. She stumbled, tripped, and then a blade slashed her leg, nicked her arm. Holloway spun, slashed her right across the chest, the force knocking her down.

"Pathetic," she said, giggling crazily, advancing upon Heather, who fought to stand, her wounds bleeding out. "You can't even stand. You can't even _fight_. If this is the best the humans have, then they deserve to be wiped out!"

She raised a blade, aimed it right at Heather's heart. "I'm going to kill you now, Princess Heart," she said. "I'm going to remove that pathetic little organ from your chest, and I'm going to sink my teeth into it, eat it, lap up all your blood. And then I'm going to offer what's left of you to my darling Flauros. And I will watch—_I will watch_—as he razes _all of this_—"

"Shut _up_, bitch!"

The golden pipe skewered her suddenly, ran her straight through. Holloway buckled, choked out black blood—Henry's shaky grip on the pipe tightened, reaffirmed itself, and then he drove it further in, black blood spraying, staining his hands, his shirt and jacket. "I told you," he said lowly, fiercely, "I told you I'd kill you, you _cunt_—"

He stopped, red blood spilling out from his mouth, a blade right through his chest. Holloway flung him away, then staggered back, the pipe still sticking out of her—and then she saw Heather, the heart rod in her hand, its end glowing a bright, vibrant pink.

"It's over!" Heather cried. "By the power of the heart and true love's light, I'm sending you _back to hell_!"

**!** **敗者****!**

She swung the rod, unleashing a giant, sparkling pink heart at Holloway. The banshee wailed, the light swallowing her, dissolving her. She flew back off the roof, disintegrating, falling away into the darkness.

Heather's uniform vanished, and she fell to her knees, wounded, exhausted. She found her bearings, finally stood up—and then saw Henry.

He lay still, hardly moving, blood pooling out from underneath him. His eyes were already fading, his chest barely moving, blood filling his throat. Heather collapsed beside him, frozen. "Henry," she said, her voice choked, her words clogged. "It's . . . it's okay. Just—"

Henry held up a bloody hand, grasped her own. "Mason," he said, his words unbelievably clear, impossibly strong. "Cheryl. You can finish this. I believe in you."

"I can't," she said, barely audible. "The plan—it's all . . . it's all over. It's—"

He squeezed her hand with dying, numbing fingers. "Not over," he said. "You . . . are Princess Heart. Princess . . . Heart."

His hand went completely limp. His head rolled back. His eyes glazed over. Heather sat there, limp, herself, rain running down her, tears streaming from her eyes. A blue glow shone on her face as sparkles rose up from Henry's body and twirled around her, then into the air. She watched them float away, watched them vanish into the sky. To the massive figure in the distance. To the great behemoth. To Flauros.

Heather looked down at Henry. Slowly, she closed his eyes; slowly, she touched his hand, felt it cold and lifeless. No. The bloody hole in his chest. No. His blood-caked hair. No. His mouth hanging slightly open, his last words settling in her, sinking into her skin, her bones. _No_.

She stood, trembling, the pocket mirror shining, burning in her hand. She turned toward Flauros, full of anger, full of rage, full of vengeance. "I," she announced, "_am Princess Heart_!" Light enveloped her, left her standing in her gold-trimmed uniform, translucent wings flapping, a tiara atop her head. Her staff materialized in her hand.

"No one else dies!" she screamed, her voice rising high above the rain, rising far above the thunder and chaos. "This ends now! Flauros, _I'm coming for you_!"

**END EPISODE 04**

**Eyes closing.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	5. Descent into Darkness! The Final Push!

"There it is," said Alessa, pointing. "The portal to the demon realm."

She emerged from the forest, followed by Eileen, Selina, and Arthur. They were in the middle of a great clearing, sunlight shining down upon the ruins surrounding them. Broken pillars of bleached stone lay on their sides; debris piled up in heaps. In the midst of the rubble, a scarred, beaten stone platform housed a faded red symbol. Eileen recognized the symbol instantly—it was the same that appeared whenever the members of the Order summoned demons.

"It's been sealed for a long time," Alessa said. "The Order created backdoors, but it wasn't their own magic. They used fairy magic to synthesize their solution. It's effective, but it doesn't last long."

"So all of the Order's power came from the fairies?" Eileen asked.

"For the most part. The demons represent chaos—they're magic in the most unrefined form. The fairies, on the other hand, they've controlled it, harnessed it. It's why the power of Princess Heart exists. It's the magic of the Otherworld, amplified by the purest sort of fairy blood." Alessa walked over to the symbol. "It's all fairy blood. That's where the power lies. In life."

"Alessa," said Arthur, "hold on. Are we really doing this? Are you really going to open it?"

"What choice do we have?" she asked. "The only way back to the human world is on the other side. If you're afraid, Arthur, you don't have to go. I don't blame you."

"She's right." Eileen stepped up. "This is my fight. I'm the one going back, not you guys. I'll go alone from here on in."

Selina took her arm. "You can't, Eileen. The demonic realm is more dangerous than you can imagine. I cannot allow you to go on your own."

"Seline—"

"Hush, Arthur. Eileen is our friend. We owe more to her than we could ever repay—and we owe just as much to Heather and their friends. We're here now because of everything they sacrificed."

"You guys aren't listening!" Arthur said. "The demon realm? Who knows what's waiting on the other side! We go over there, we're as good as dead!"

"I'm going, one way or another." Eileen walked to the edge of the circle, where Alessa stood. "Open it, Alessa," she said. "We can't waste anymore time."

"So be it." Alessa withdrew a knife and held out her thumb. With a quick slash, she cut it open—blood dripped on to the stone, began to somehow course through the lines of the symbol. "Stand back," said Alessa, and Eileen did as told, watching as the symbol lit up, burned a deep crimson. From the center it began to corrode, vanish, dissolve—a yawning darkness replaced it, spreading, unleashing a loud, monstrous roar. For a moment the sky darkened; the wind picked up. Fully open, the portal emitted waves of heat and stenches of blood, rust, and burning flesh. An invisible taint rose out of it, a strange, hot, disquieting haze.

"Fairy blood," said Alessa, clenching her fist.

Eileen peered into the darkness. "The demon world, huh? Like what was at Silent Hill?"

"Worse," Alessa replied. "But all we need to do is find the portal that will take you back to the human world. Once we do, you'll be able to go back."

Eileen turned to the other girl, studied her set face, her hard eyes. "Alessa," she said, "I'm sorry about the queen. She seemed . . . really nice. Really good."

"She was," said Alessa. "It doesn't matter now. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."

They jumped in. Arthur stood back, mortified. "I can't believe this," he moaned. "I seriously cannot fucking believe this."

Determined, Selina grabbed his arm. "Come on," she said. "They're going to need our help." She dragged him towards the portal.

"Seline, don't even think about it! Don't even _dare_—"

She flew them both in.

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 05: Descent into Darkness! The Final Push!**

"Sunderland, you still with us?"

James was looking up at Flauros, watching the demon accept a fresh volley of blue lights high above. It was a sight from some apocalyptic disaster movie—black skies thunderous and streaked with blue lightning, violent winds blowing over demolished buildings, literal hellspawn flying over it. How many people had been lost to it already? How many countless mothers and fathers and sons and daughters? How many husbands and wives? How many brothers and sisters? He thought of the highway from before, cluttered with refugees, choked with aid workers and soldiers. Lives lost in seconds. How many more would it take? How many of his own friends? First Eileen, and then Heather—then Henry. Who was next?

A hand came down on his shoulder, stirred him from his contemplation.

"James?" It was Elle, frenzied bangs over her face, breathing heavy, sweat lining her brow. "Da Silva's calling you. Come on, we have to keep moving."

He turned around slowly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm good. Don't worry."

"Nice to hear," Da Silva said. She handed a rifle to him. Beside her, the other soldier that had been with them, a young, dark-haired man, maybe in his mid-twenties, shook and squirmed.

"You see those things?" he asked, pointing at the sky through the space in the alleyway where they were. "Never been up close to them before . . . holy shit."

"MacDonald," said Da Silva, "get a hold of yourself. You keep shaking like that, those things will tear you apart in no time. You hear me?"

"But . . . but just _look at them_—"

"MacDonald." She placed a steady hand on his arm. "Relax. Just relax."

"It'll be fine," Elle said. "We just keep going, just keep moving. What do we do now?"

"We find a working chopper," Da Silva said. "The plan's sidetracked, but it's still on. Mason might be working on taking down the EMI as we speak. Once she does, we'll need firepower. We were lucky we didn't go up in flames, but our ride's still shot. One of the other helicopters might have stayed intact, and its load-out might still be, too."

"Okay." Elle raised the rifle she had been given, threw the strap around her neck. "We just walk around until we find one?"

"Not much else we can do," Da Silva said, hefting her own rifle. "I'll take point. MacDonald, watch our rear. We take it slow, keep our eyes open." She paused, then sighed. "Sunderland," she said, "Shepherd. I'm gonna do what I can to keep you alive, but you have to listen to me. Got it? No heroics. We stick together. We watch each other's backs, and we might make it."

"Got it," said Elle, and James nodded.

"Okay. Then let's move, people."

* * *

"We should be safe in here," Blackwood said, pushing a table in front of the door to the bar. It was dank inside, but empty—holes in the roof let in soft blue light and rain. Tables were overturned, shattered glass was everywhere. Splatters of blood obscured what remained of the windows.

Alex dragged forward a large black box they had secured from the helicopter. He unlatched it, flipped it open. "Okay," he said, "um—there's the flare gun, a first aid kit. Here, Mary." He stood, pulled over a chair; Mary slowly eased Claudia into it. The girl cringed, her leg limp and bloody.

"We can at least wrap some gauze around it," Alex said, taking out the roll. "Maybe make a brace. Some disinfectant. You can't move it at all?"

"No," said Claudia, letting out a strained breath. "No, I'm sure it's broken."

"Okay. Mary, can you put on the disinfectant?"

"Sure."

As she went to work, Alex turned to Blackwood. "General," he said. "What now?"

"We won't last long out in the street," said Blackwood. "Do you see how empty they are? Most of the civilians have probably holed themselves up. Anyone out in the open is an easy target otherwise." He picked up the flare gun, turned it in his hand. "We need to get support, but with the girl like that, we won't be able to get around."

"So, what? We stay here?"

"We bunker down and fortify." He raised the gun in his hand. "Hopefully the flare doesn't attract any attention, but we need to be ready if it does."

Alex considered the general's words. After a moment, he nodded. "Okay. We try to barricade the doors and windows. Mary, can you help?"

"Yeah," she said, finishing the wrap around Claudia's legs. "There. It's the best for now."

"Thank you," said Claudia. "Listen—I can help. If they come in—"

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Blackwood said. "Mr. Shepherd, let's find something to block the windows."

* * *

Eileen nearly puked when she stood up.

"Man, that stinks!" she moaned, holding a hand to her nose. The mixed smells of blood and rust hung in the air, floated in a haze over everything. The red sky swirled and thundered; ashen, destroyed buildings sagged and crumbled; streetlights and cars and phone booths protruded from the widespread rubble at odd angles, jutting forth like teeth. Eileen stood at the far end of the ruptured, ruined street and scanned the horizon, seeing only apocalyptic destruction underneath a blood-red sky for miles.

"_This_ is the demon world? It's a city, like the one you found me in."

"It's not," said Alessa. "Look closely."

She did—there were Christmas lights strung over children's slides sticking out of buildings, railroad tracks draped across a billboard standing atop a fountain. Teddy bears hung from a web of telephone poles. A rusted, rickety windmill presided over a hardware store.

"It's junk," Alessa said. "Literally trash from the human psyche, from the ego." Condoms and air fresheners hung off towers of antennae and satellite dishes, flapping in the wind. Mannequins, some naked, others dressed in skirts and heavy jackets, in baseball caps and suits, some missing heads, others missing arms, stood amid a downed Ferris wheel.

"It's a wasteland. The mortal world leaks out—its mental energies manifest, take form somewhere else. Silent Hill was the same way. If someone felt strongly enough, if they despaired, if they worried, those fears took shape. They became real. It's the same principle here."

"Why not the fairy world?" Eileen asked. "It doesn't work that way?"

"It does, but it's a trickle effect. The fairy world is ordered, and we sift through what bleeds into our realm. But the demons? This is a state of nature, a jungle. There are no rules here except the one: survival of the fittest. The deeper we go in, the more powerful demons there will be."

Already they could see them—winged terrors flying in the distance, scavenging. Dark, deformed figures rummaging through junk, ripping apart dead flesh and throwing aside old, decayed bone. Huge worms and larvae burying and reemerging, revealing grotesque maws full of teeth.

Eileen looked up. The hole they dropped from was closing, quickly becoming smaller and smaller. "So we're stuck here?" she asked. "Can't leave?"

"I can reopen it," Alessa said, "but I won't—not until you're gone. We can't risk any demons making it through."

"Yeah. Makes sense. Do demons ever make it, anyway?"

"They did, long ago. That was before the realms were split apart—before the fairies and demons were as different as they are now." Alessa came forward, shook her head. "It's history now. Whatever was right or wrong, it's already done."

"I guess." Eileen turned. "Selina? Arthur? You guys are really quiet."

"We're okay," Selina said, rubbing her arms. "It's just—it's different for fairies. We can sense them—feel them all around us. This is not a good place to be for our kind."

"We won't be here long," Eileen said. "I promise."

They made their way into the city. All around them, buildings threatened to collapse, figures slipped in and out of the corners of their eyes. "I can't believe we're doing this," Arthur mumbled, his teeth chattering, his arms shaking. "They're going to kill us, you guys. They are going to seriously kill us."

"We'll be fine, Arthur," Alessa said in a hushed whisper. "Just hold on."

"This was almost our planet," Eileen said, looking around. "This was so close to happening. And now it could happen again. Now it could happen even worse."

Beside her, Alessa kept the pace, then stopped. She held out an arm, blocked the fairies. "Wait," she said. "Behind us."

Eileen turned—demons were trailing behind them, keeping their distance, rompers and gum heads and dogs all looking on, curious, but also anxious and ready. The ground suddenly shook; lumbering nearby was an even larger, hairy demon. Alessa watched it pass, saw two more approaching from the distance. "Caliban," she said. "I didn't think they would be this far in."

Fliers perched on buildings and phone lines, staring down at them with beady eyes, leathery wings flapping. Metal grinded and wind wailed as smaller demons—Selina saw them, mumbled "pendulums"—floated towards them. Soon they were completely surrounded, a horde of demons on all sides, most simply watching, but others aggressively screeching and roaring, pounding the ground, flailing their heads.

"That didn't take long," Eileen said. "What's the plan?"

"The portal's not for a ways," said Alessa. "We don't have a choice but to fight."

"Think we can take 'em?"

"We don't have to. All we need to do is make a path."

Eileen grinned. "You know, my blood is boiling. I forgot how this felt." She threw out her hands, stretched, flexed her muscles. "Been a while since I've done this! Hope I'm not too rusty. Not that it matters—these guys are chumps."

"You and Heather aren't so different," Alessa said. "I can see why you're friends."

"Aww, come on, Alessa. Ya can't tell me you aren't excited."

"No," said Alessa, raising her arm, her sleeve sliding back to reveal a bracelet with a crystal heart atop it. "It's been a while for me, too."

"Sounds good," Eileen said. "Selina, Arthur—you two get back. It's about to get ugly." She walked forward, spread out her arms. "Demons! Are . . . _you_ . . . _**ready**_?"

They roared in response. "Hell yeah, I hear that! You know who's back in da house? Who's back in da goddamn driving seat? Who's about to fucking _creampie your asses_?"

More roars and bellows, far more violent than before. The fairies looked around in fright, Arthur gripping Selina's arm tightly. "We're dead," he murmured. "We're . . . so . . . _dead_."

"I hear you!" Eileen shouted back. "I've _been_ hearing you! Every night! Every hour! Something inside of me that keeps saying, 'Go, kill some goddamn demons! Paint the town red!' And it pissed me off 'cause I couldn't! But now I have the perfect opportunity, don't you think?"

This finally pushed them over the edge. The demons charged, flew, and lunged. The large Calibans turned, their attention drawn by the commotion, and marched towards them, demolishing whatever buildings and rubble were caught in their paths. Eileen smirked and posed.

"That's exactly how I feel about it!" she yelled, flipping open the morpher around her wrist. "_Let's rock, baby_! Super sweet henshin, Magnum Heart's-a-go-go!"

Blue light spiraled out of the morpher, encircled her, and when it faded, Eileen stood, fully equipped in her blue-themed uniform, a pink electric guitar in her hands. "Aww yeah!" she cried, flipping the guitar around. "We're back with the best for last! Come on, fuckers!"

She ran to meet the demons. Alessa scoffed, her bracelet glowing. "Can't fall behind," she said, twirling elegantly, long dark hair swaying. "_Transform_! _La vie en rose_, Lady Heart!" Red streams of light wrapped around her, leaving behind a slender figure in black, crimson, and violet. Cool blue eyes opened; her gloved hand moved with grace, a lush, full rose between the slim fingers. It glowed and suddenly transformed into a rapier, petals whirling around it.

"Selina," she said, "Arthur. It's time to hide."

"Be careful, Alessa," Selina said, taking Arthur and ducking for the shelter of some nearby wreckage. The girl was already moving like lightning, zipping from demon to demon, with each hew of her rapier leaving behind pieces of bloody flesh and muscle. A whip formed in her other hand, snatched off the head of a romper, swept off the arm of a gum head. It was a dance—effortless moves, disciplined grace, a rain of black blood.

Eileen meanwhile skipped and stumbled through the horde, strumming on her guitar, obliterating demons in explosions of pink fire and lightning. She took hold of the guitar by the neck, twisted her body like a golfer, and took off the head of an attacking nurse. It arced through the air, a trail of blood behind it. And still more demons advanced, flying down, scurrying, running. "You guys just never learn!" She raised the guitar with both hands, and suddenly it was changing, ballooning into an enormous mallet of pink light. She brought it down with a cry, crushing the oncoming monsters, flattening them like downed, jerking mosquitoes.

She surveyed her handiwork, dusting off her hands and grinning. "Fuck with the best, get fucked like the rest," she said, only for her eyes to widen as the dust cleared and a much larger figure came forward, stomping all over the remains of the smaller demons. One of the Caliban approached, a monstrosity with a curved spine, its head between its legs, roaring. Eileen raised the guitar. "Come on, asshole—"

A sudden swipe sent her tumbling away into a building. She crashed through a window, collided with a series of shelves. "Ow," she mumbled, rising, dust and plaster sliding off her. "Hits like a train." The demon was ignoring her, heading instead for Alessa. "Oh no you don't! No one sucker punches me and gets away with it!"

She rushed out, running straight for it. Her fist reared back, planted itself firmly into the Caliban's leg. Dirt and air writhed from the shock of the blow; the leg immediately broke, and the demon buckled, falling over. Eileen jumped atop it and began pounding into its underside, punching rapidly, her fists quickly breaking the flesh, coming away smeared in black, sprays shooting out, staining her uniform. She raised a fist for one last punch, pink light around it forming into a humongous cartoonish hand, and brought it down, segmenting the Caliban's body in two.

Eileen stood straight, panting, covered in blood. "Holy shit," she breathed, wiping her brow. "Lost myself there for a sec." She looked around, dismayed to find still more demons, their numbers practically undiminished.

"That was impressive!" Alessa called to her, "But we have to start moving! We can't fight them forever."

"What's your plan?"

"We take to the sky!" A red sphere enveloped Alessa, and she floated up. "Selina! Arthur! It's time to go!" The fairies poked their heads out, their brilliant wings moving. A rose appeared in Alessa's hand, and she lobbed it into the crowd. It detonated, blowing apart skin and tendon, muscle and bone, and leaving an opening.

"Wait up!" said Eileen, a blue sphere of her own forming. She took flight alongside the others, the four making distance from the battle. Fliers chased after them, but they were easily shot down, lasers and pellets of energy cutting through their small bodies. They touched down far away, near what appeared to be a decimated school, and hurried inside.

Eileen wandered away as Alessa barred the door. "I'm still shaking," the girl said, bending over, composing herself. "I don't remember that being so tiring."

"We're in a place of magic," Alessa said, looking at her. She removed her blouse, left behind a black tank top. "It's going to be harder to control the power. You were feeding off it, but it can be like a drug, too."

"Yeah. No shit." Eileen sat against a wall, placed her arms over her knees. "Feels good when you let go, though. It's like you're . . . not even in your body anymore. Like you're just floating, apart of everything. Or something like that."

Selina kneaded her hands together, looked between the two girls. "Alessa," she said, "you can't push yourself. With the queen gone—"

"I know," snapped Alessa, but she quickly softened. "I'm sorry, Selina. You don't need to worry. I know where I stand."

Arthur looked up, sitting on a piece of rubble. "Look," he said, "just how much farther do we have to go? Where's the portal? I mean, how much longer are we going to be in this hellhole?"

"It shouldn't be much farther," Alessa said, sitting down, herself. "For now we'll rest."

"How long?"

"Just look over there." She nodded to Eileen, who was already fast asleep, head rolled back, mouth open.

"Give her some time," Alessa said. "Then we'll move on."

* * *

Screams. Gunfire. Flauros roaring. A pink light flying towards it.

"It's Heather," said Elle. "Look, James!"

James followed the pink light in the distance, a small dot against the tumult of the dark sky, saw it racing towards the hulking figure atop the Empire State Building. "She didn't make it," he said lowly. "The plan . . . It didn't work."

"Doesn't matter," Da Silva said. "Buck up. We have to support her somehow."

James kept his eyes away, tried to block out the roars and explosions and flashes of light. He was trying hard to believe—_damn_ hard, but it just seemed so increasingly futile, so maddeningly fruitless. What had happened to Alex and the others? What had happened to Mary? Henry? Heather was still alive, still fighting, but for how long? When would she finally give up? When would she expire? When would she lose her nerve, lose the will to go on? It was like climbing a wall with no end, its length shooting up every time you were inches away from the top. But he was trying to climb, goddamn it. He was really fucking trying.

Elle saw it in his face. She nudged him. "Don't think about it, James," she said, although the conviction in her own voice was flimsy, shaky. "One thing after another. That's how we do these things, right?"

"Yeah." He tried to summon strength, tried to shore up willpower. "One thing after another." He kept pace with the others, making their way through a series of alleyways. When they came out onto a street, cars overturned and wrecked, some on fire, buildings torn up, a red, sizzling spark caught their attention in the darkness.

Da Silva pointed at it with her rifle. "Look! A flare! That could be one of the others!"

James perked up. "Mary?" he asked. "You think it could be the general's group?"

"It could be. Come on, it's close by!"

They headed for the source of the flare, dodging through alleyways and cutting across streets, and then stopped, surprised by a number of Tuberculosis demons descending upon a bar ahead of them. "That must be them!" James cried, and, through the windows, they could see them—Blackwood, Alex, Mary, and Claudia, preparing themselves for the ensuing invasion.

James moved before he even realized what he was doing, his finger pushing down on the trigger, his arms jerking up with each shot of the rifle. The bullets scattered haphazardly, hitting brick, dashing asphalt, breaking flesh. The demons crowding the bar turned around, the ones hit hardly even wounded.

"Shit!" Da Silva readied her weapon, trained it. "MacDonald, get ready!"

"Yes, ma'am!" MacDonald fumbled, switched the safety off, raised his rifle right as the demons went for them. They unleashed a flurry of bullets, the muzzle flash blinding, the sound deafening. Elle was briefly shocked, dazed by the onslaught—she watched through blurry eyes as the first few demons fell to pieces, and then the next. Beside her, James was reaffirming himself, holding the rifle more tightly. Then he was firing, clamping down with all his might on the gun, keeping it steady, fighting to focus its barrel. More demons were approaching, flying down, but then the door to the bar was open, then Alex was beckoning them inside.

"Come on!" he yelled over the gunfire. "Hurry up!"

"Let's go!" Da Silva shouted, running for the bar, blasting some final shots at the oncoming creatures. She ducked inside, followed by MacDonald, James, and Elle. Alex shut and barred the doors behind them.

Da Silva scanned the room, quickly saluted. "General Blackwood," she said. "We're here, sir. You all went down, too?"

"The whole unit," Blackwood said with a sigh. "We were attacked."

"We saw her," said Da Silva. "A demon, probably that Holloway woman. She attacked Mason, and that was the last we saw of them."

"At least you're not injured," Blackwood said. "We lost Stoner, but everyone else is intact—except for Miss Wolf. She broke her leg upon impact."

Elle looked from Mary to Claudia to Alex before breaking out in a relieved smile. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, embracing Alex. "I was so worried!"

"We're fine," Alex said, kissing her. "We're okay. But we can't stay here, either."

"Those things will get in soon," Mary said, helping Claudia up. She traded a quick kiss with James, then turned to Blackwood and Da Silva. "We have to do something."

"Sir," said Da Silva, "Mason is fighting the UDP right now. I don't know what her chances are, but if she gives us an opening, we need to take it. We were looking for an intact chopper. If the EMI goes down, I can still take it up."

"I saw another one go down not too far from where we were," Blackwood said. "We can head there, but it won't be easy, especially with Miss Wolf in her condition."

"I won't slow you down," Claudia said. "I promise. If I do . . . you can leave me behind."

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Da Silva said. "Come on, before they get in. MacDonald, get back on our rear. Sunderland"—she grinned—"watch where you point that thing next time."

"Wait." Alex looked over the group, frowned. "Where's Henry? Wasn't he with you?"

Elle let out a sigh, touched his arm. "He went after Heather—and my mother. We don't know what happened to him."

"Oh, God." Alex seemed to waver on his feet for a moment, but he composed himself, closed his eyes, drew in a steadying breath. He met James's solemn gaze, who could only nod. "Alright," he said, "alright. Shit." He looked up, pointed. "There's a door in the back, I think. We can—we can, uh, get out through there."

Blackwood saw the reluctance, the worry. He drew himself up. "Listen to me," he said, looking from each teenager to the next. "Mr. Townshend knew the stakes. Even if I hadn't asked, he would have still wanted to do whatever he could to see Miss Mason succeed. We have to do the same. This isn't over yet. You all told me to believe, so that's what I'm going to do now. It's what you have to do—believe that you will survive, that you will see your families again, that this nightmare will end. Do you understand me? _You must believe_."

James was the one to find it in himself, to look up, to nod. "I do believe," he said. "Heather's still fighting. As long as she holds out, so can we. Alex?"

Alex nodded. "That's right. You can count on us, General."

"Good. Then let's make sure we finish this."

* * *

Henry looking on in fear. The rompers and their disgusting mouths, their awful laughter. The gross guy's greasy hair, his crooked mouth, his lopsided eyes. The sweat clinging to her face, her heart drumming in her chest, the blade of the knife. The woman's dead expression, her dark eyes, her quiet, knowing smile. The knife coming closer. The quick, searing pain, and then the sudden fall. The rushing sense of numbness, the loss of sensation. The dark coming down.

Eileen awoke with a start, a hand unconsciously around her throat. It was quiet inside the school, dark. Outside were noises, were cries and violent bursts of wind, but they were far away, distant. Next to her, Selina stirred.

"You're awake," she said. "You were asleep for a long time."

Eileen rubbed her eyes, massaged her neck. "How long?"

"A few hours. Alessa and Arthur are scouting the building, but it seems safe."

"Oh. Well, I'm okay now. I was just super tired. Being Magnum Heart never took that much out of me before."

"You've been through quite a bit," Selina said. "You passed over, Eileen. That's traumatic. It's only natural you would be exhausted."

"Yeah. I guess." Eileen looked at the fairy, smiled. "You really do look good, Selina. Seeing you again—even that lame-o Arthur—it really helped. I missed you guys."

"I missed you, too," said Selina. "Arthur does, as well, even if he won't admit it. It feels like so long since we were on earth, though. Time moves so much differently here in the Otherworld—it blurs, it seems to stand still. But I never forgot. I held onto my memories of you and Heather, of your friends. You all saved us. I was just grateful to be a part of that."

"_Our_ friends," Eileen said. "You're one of us, Selina. Don't think you're not."

The fairy smiled. "Thank you. I'll remember that."

Footsteps drew their attention to the hall. Alessa appeared, Arthur behind her. "You're awake," said Alessa. "Good. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine." Eileen stood, stretched. "I can go. I can fight."

"Alright. In that case."

They left the school, slowly moved away from the city. The desert degenerated, fell off into a deep crevasse, one lined with more ruins and rubble. "The portal should be beyond this," Alessa said. "Watch yourselves."

They slid down the crevasse, making their way to the bottom. "There a reason we can't just fly?" Eileen asked, taking a tentative step onto a rock. "Like, we'd be far away by now."

"In the same way fairies can sense demonic energy," Alessa said, "so can demons sense fairy magic. If we want to avoid even more than before, we have to take it slow."

"It's a pain in the ass," Arthur remarked. "Just coming here was an awful idea."

"Arthur, please," reproached Selina. "This is the only way to reach the human world."

"Sure, but do we even know Eileen can make a difference?"

Eileen looked back at him. "I know how it looks," she said, "but I've got to try. I'm sorry, dude. You didn't have to come."

"I wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't. And, well—I mean, yeah, I don't exactly want you guys to die or anything like that."

They reached the bottom of the crevasse. It was like a junkyard at the bottom—sheets of rusted metal over one another, stacks of rotten, burnt-out cars, heaps of metal and rust and other odds and ends. "It's sad," said Selina, looking on at the collective rubble and wreckage. "This will just keep accumulating, won't it? Trash and waste."

"As long as the human mind exists," Alessa said. "What you see here are fears, doubts, hopes, anxieties. They're secret passions. Fetishes. True feelings. If they're buried far enough, it's almost like they never existed." She paused, passed a hand over a piece of jutting wood. "The mind of an animal—it's clearer. Not as messy. The demons don't have the same weight as humans and fairies. They don't have to worry about their deaths—or their lives, for that matter. They just live day-to-day. They'll feel pain, maybe some brief excitement, some happiness. But it's only one impulse leading to another. There's no sense of it. No pattern. No conscious collection into a self, however flimsy it might be."

"That's depressing," Eileen said. "You really know how to kill a trip, Alessa."

"You can blame almost twenty years in the Order for that," Alessa said, just as dispassionately as before. She flinched, seemed to struggle with a smile. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to work on it. I think I'm getting better."

"What was it like? Growing up like that?"

"It wasn't a childhood," she said, "at least not like the one you probably had. Dahlia was not a mother—she disappeared for years, and then when she did return, it was too late. I had no love for the woman, and she had none for me. I wasn't a daughter to her. I was a tool. And a broken one, at that. The failure, she liked to call me. The reject. Still useful because I happened to have fairy blood, because she happened to be the one with a strong link to the Otherworld, but a reject, nonetheless."

"That's rough. And there was no one else? No friends?"

"No. Priests and schoolmates. Some of them friendlier than others, some of them not. They called me a witch. Before I even knew why I was different, why I was held so distantly, put so apart, they were already treating me like I was different. Lisa was one of them. Jealous of me, not because of anything I did, but because I was just . . . the one. Broken, maybe, but still special."

Eileen was quiet, watching as Alessa kept walking. "I don't know what that's like," she said softly. "I always had people. My mom and dad. My grandpa and grandma. My aunts and uncles. Cousins. Heather. Claudia. Henry." She smiled. "Everyone's always been nice to me. I was never . . . alone like that, I guess."

"I don't hold that against you, Eileen," Alessa said, her tone cool, her eyes set forward. "And you don't need to pity me. There's nothing I lost down there."

"Not even Heather?"

Alessa stopped, turned back. "We didn't know each other. She was a name, a face. My sister, but what does that mean? Does it mean there's love there? Does it mean there's a bond, even if you've never seen her before?"

Eileen struggled to come up with an answer. Arthur spoke up. "Not to interrupt this philosophical family hour, but does anyone else feel that?"

"Feel what?" Alessa asked, but then a tremor shook the ground. Something suddenly shot out of the rubble nearby, huge, long, and gray.

"What the hell is that?" demanded Eileen. "Some type of worm?"

The demon was a giant worm, its gray flesh covered in dirt and slime, its mouth lined with innumerous small, sharp teeth. Alessa's bracelet was already glowing. "_Transform_!" she cried, emerging from the red light as Lady Heart, rapier in hand. She dashed for the worm, but it quickly burrowed underground, disappearing beneath the dirt and debris.

"Watch out!" shouted the girl. "It could be anywhere!"

"With my luck it's coming for me!" Arthur yelled, and it was, bursting from the ground behind him, its mouth clamping down on his leg and swinging him into the air. He screamed, glasses flying off, emo bangs flailing.

"_Arthur_!" Selina screamed. Eileen pulled herself up, dusted off her bottom.

"Fuck, um, shit, it's showtime! Err, I mean, _let's rock_!" She transformed into Magnum Heart and leapt at the demon, prepared to punch, but its erratic wriggling threw her off, let her eat a face-full of dirt. "Piece of crap," she mumbled, spitting it out. "What's—"

An explosion rocked behind her. She turned, saw Alessa touching down with Arthur in her arms, half of the demon's body swirling up, black blood gushing out from both ends. "Thanks for that, Alessa," Arthur said. "Damn thing was going to take my leg off."

The worm still wriggled, and, as it shook, its flesh began to bulb. A mucus-covered fresh head began to emerge and grow from the wound. Eileen saw it and shot up. "Watch out!" she cried, running to it and encircling her arms around its width. With a grunt of effort, she pulled, uprooted the entire worm from the ground. She spun around, the slimy mass squirming between her arms, and threw it, launching it far off into the distance.

"There we go," said Eileen, picking at the slime on her gloves and throwing globules of it off. "No coming back from that. No siree."

"No," Alessa said. "Thank you, Eileen."

"No problem. Now I'm all covered in slime, though, lol."

Alessa smiled, but her eyes were hard. She turned towards the darkness awaiting them.

* * *

"There—look!"

A helicopter sat atop a department store, free of major damage. It was almost indistinguishable in the storm; the battle between Heather and Flauros raged on farther in the city, whole buildings annihilated, entire streets aflame, bright flashes and explosions blinding the group.

Elle lowered her rifle. "It's there," she said. "On that roof. It looks good."

"Where are the soldiers?" Claudia asked. "Shouldn't they be there?"

"Not if the fliers got 'em," Da Silva said. "They're circling higher up. Hard to see, but they're there. Probably picked 'em off the minute they got out."

"We'll have to make our way up," Blackwood said. "Come on."

They crossed the street and reached the parking lot, a slick, bloody wasteland—demolished cars, shredded carcasses, an ugly, odorous stink. They moved slowly, cautiously, avoiding shattered glass and contorted metal, keeping an eye on the surrounding rainy dark. Alex made it to the door, opened it—the lobby was quiet, empty, full of downed mannequins, strewn-about purses and boots, and broken display cases.

"It looks safe," he said, stepping inside. The lobby was high, with a domed skylight; blue flashes illuminated the darkness down below, created odd, distorted shadows. "It could take forever to find the stairs," he whispered. "What do we do?"

"Split up," Blackwood said. "Check the far ends of the floor. If we sweep the first floor without finding anything, we'll go up to the second."

They went in different directions. Blackwood and MacDonald headed over to the men's clothing; Alex and James wandered through the perfume section; Da Silva led the girls through a sea of purses and shoes.

"I'm drenched," Elle said, looking over herself, trying to put on a smile. "I guess that's the last thing to be worried about, though."

"It could be worse," Da Silva remarked. "Imagine desert for miles, bone-dry, white and hot as sin. I'll take rain over that any day."

"I'll take some good old blue sky," Mary said, Claudia limping beside her. "Maybe when this is over, we'll actually get to see the sun again."

Alex stared over at them, followed the bobbing lights of their rifles. "Everything's falling apart," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, water running down his face. "We don't have much of a chance here. Right now, all we can do is make sure those girls get out of this alive."

"Heather's still fighting," James said. "We've seen her work miracles before."

"I know, but . . ." Alex hesitated. "Henry?" he said after a moment. "Alone out there?"

"Maybe he's hiding. He wouldn't let those demons get him."

"No, I guess not. Henry's a tough son of a bitch. I never got to tell him that."

Not far off, Blackwood and MacDonald navigated through suits and jackets. MacDonald shook, breathed hard; his light was erratic, swinging to and fro. Blackwood glanced at him. "Tighten it up," he said lowly. "Breathe in and out. In and out."

"I'm trying," MacDonald said. "It's just—those monsters . . . they could be in here."

"They're not, and they won't be, as long as you keep it calm. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Yes, I'm—"

A rack of coats suddenly fell over, and a figure jumped out, latched onto MacDonald's arm. "_Help me Jesus they're everywhere they're coming they're all dead_—"

MacDonald jerked, screamed, shot off a burst of bullets. The figure fell back among the coats—Blackwood pulled MacDonald aside, shone his light on the assailant, passed over a head of brown hair, a pair of young eyes, a nametag. "She was an attendant here," he said. "Was probably stuck in here, waiting for help."

"Fuck," said MacDonald, eyes wide. "I didn't fucking know! She just jumped up, scared the shit out of me!" He looked to Blackwood, then back to the young woman. "I swear to Christ! I didn't fucking know!"

James and Alex ran over, followed by Da Silva and the others. "What happened?" asked Alex, and then he saw the girl. "Oh God. Holy shit."

The attendant's body shone blue, and a light trailed up from her body, vanished through the ceiling. "Forget about it," Blackwood said. "We have to keep—"

He stopped, looked up. Familiar screeches, telltale shrieks. Dark shapes appeared beyond the skylight, silhouetted by the blue lightning. First there was one, then two, then three, and then suddenly there were many, wings flapping, maws stretching open, axes swinging.

"Oh, no," Elle said. "They must have heard it!"

"Get out!" Blackwood boomed. "_Now_!"

But the skylight had already shattered, and the store was already flooding with demons, their gray bodies quickly filling up the space. Da Silva and Blackwood unloaded their rifles; muzzle flashes flared, and shreds of demon fell. Mary and Claudia backed into a wall, watched as the demons approached. James and Alex stood between them firing as well as they could, not accurate, spraying bullets. MacDonald sat against the wall, trembling, finally having reached his limit.

"There's no end to them!" Elle cried.

"Up the escalators!" Blackwood roared over the gunfire. "Follow me!" He moved, reloaded effortlessly, kept firing. The teenagers were quick to follow. Da Silva, meanwhile, hoisted MacDonald up, shoved him along, provided cover fire. The second floor was a blur of flashes, shooting, screeches, movement, chaos. Claudia's head was down throughout it all, her ears ringing, verging on deaf, her eyes tearing, her leg blasting with pain. Muffled screams, painful stumbles, and then suddenly she was being pushed through a door, up a white stairwell. Mary was clutching her, Elle was behind her, then James, Da Silva. She looked up, saw through watery eyes MacDonald coming, Alex, Blackwood—

An axe came down. Blackwood yelled, fell to one knee, his other suddenly mangled, suddenly spitting out blood. MacDonald barreled through the doorway, but Da Silva and Alex were still in the fray, each one taking an arm and pulling the general up.

"What are you doing?" he demanded through gritted teeth. "Go! Get to the roof!"

"You're coming with us, sir!" Da Silva said. "We're not leaving you behind!"

"Da Silva!" he said. "You have to protect those kids! You can't let them die!"

"Sir, I know—"

He wrested himself free. "You'll go with them. You'll get to that helicopter. You'll support Princess Heart." He reached into his fatigues, withdrew a grenade. "I'll buy you time. Just get up there!"

Da Silva stood, watching him, as Alex raised his rifle, shot at the oncoming demons.

"Sir—"

"_Go!_"

She grabbed Alex and ran for the door. Blackwood turned, faced the mass of demons coming for him, put a finger through the grenade ring. "Come on, you si—" They were upon him, tearing him apart in seconds, arms hurtling in different directions, legs thrown aside, blood flying. Alex watched the carnage as Da Silva dragged him through the doorway, watched the grenade roll towards them, watched the demons approach undeterred, not slowed in the least.

"They're still coming!" Mary screamed. James raised his weapon; Da Silva turned, but not in enough time. Alex shrugged her off, turned for a split second to his friends. He saw Elle. She saw him.

"I love you, Elle," he said, and then he was running, grabbing the grenade, pulling out the ring, screaming, waving his arms. It happened too fast, too quick. Da Silva shut the door, stopped the demons from breaching. Elle simply stared, and then she understood, then she realized.

"_Alex_!" she wailed. But it was too late. There was a muffled explosion, a vague splatter, and then silence. No more noise. No more screeching. No more shrieking. No more gunfire.

"No," Elle moaned, bending over, covering his mouth. "Oh, _no_. No no no _no_."

Mary was mortified, speechless. Claudia was crying. James said nothing, something burning up within him, something exploding. He slammed his fist against the wall. "Why?" he demanded. "Why the hell does this keep happening? _Why_?"

Elle slumped to the floor. "Alex . . . Oh, God, Alex . . ."

Da Silva regarded each of them, and then she leaned back, winced. Her hand came away from her side, red and dripping with blood. She smiled wryly, looked down at the gunshot through her gut.

"What is that?" MacDonald asked. "When'd you—"

"It must have been when we were running," she said plainly, face pale, eyes dim. "What a joke. So much for saving the world." She dropped her rifle, grabbed onto the railing of the stairs. "Come on—we gotta get to the roof. The chopper's there."

James was silent, head bowed, fists clenched. Slowly, with great effort, he looked up. "She's right. Elle, we have to go." He turned to the girl, who sat hugging her knees, whimpering. "Elle, we have to go. _Elle_."

"I . . . I can't. Alex, he's . . . he's . . ."

"He's dead," James said simply. "Probably the same as Henry. The same as Eileen. The same as everyone else who's died because of that demon out there. But we can't give up. If we do, then it was for nothing. Then that monster gets to keep killing, until there's no one left."

"He's right, Elle," Mary said. "We just—as long as we have something to do."

James knelt before her, took her hand. "One thing after another," he said. "That's how we do these things, right?"

She looked up at him, shell-shocked, stunned—and then something cemented itself in her eyes, in her heart. She stood up, took a moment to stop shaking. "Okay," she said. "Okay. I can go. I can do this."

They continued up, came out onto the roof. It was raining even harder, thundering more fiercely. There was the helicopter, just as dead as could be expected, just as silent. Part of the tail was clipped off, some of the propeller wings dented, but it was otherwise in working condition.

"Now what?" asked James, the raining falling upon them in sheets. "What do we do?"

Da Silva laughed, fell against the hull. "Nothing," she said. "The EMI is still active. As long as the UDP's still standing, we're dead in the water."

"We have to be able to do something," Mary said. "There has to be _something_."

"No," said Da Silva. "It's over. It's just fucking over."

Far-off screeches came closer. "Oh, not again," Claudia said. "Oh, no."

James fumbled with his gun. "Come on," he stammered. "We'll go back inside, we—"

A loud, piercing roar. They all turned, saw Flauros collapse into a building, its arm and a portion of its body hewn off, a sea of black blood spilling into the streets. "What the hell?" Da Silva mumbled. Lights started flickering on across the city. Electricity hummed to life. The Tuberculosis demons turned, flew towards their wounded master.

"The EMI," Da Silva said. "She—she did it. She took it down!"

"It's a miracle!" Mary cried. James ran over to the helicopter.

"We can ride it? It'll turn on?"

Da Silva stared at it, slid a hand across it. "Yes—_I_ can ride it. It'll turn on."

James blinked at her. "What?"

"I'm going alone, Sunderland. You don't take a bullet to the abdomen and usually live to tell the tale—at least not without a hospital and some damn good doctors. Maybe some good liquor, too." She let out a breathless laugh. "I'm done, in other words."

"Da Silva, no—"

"Forget it. This is what we came for." She turned to him. "Keep your friends safe. If this doesn't work, you find Mason. You keep trying to figure out a way to stop it. You hear me? You don't stop, not as long as you keep breathing."

James opened his mouth, struggled to find words. She smirked. "Did you hear what I said, Sunderland?"

"I . . . yeah. Yeah, I heard."

"Okay. Good." She waved over at the others. "MacDonald! Keep an eye on these kids! I'm taking off while we still have a chance!"

"_What_?" he called back. "You're doing _what_?"

"I'm going!" She opened the door, climbed in, blood trickling out faster, more readily. She switched on the helicopter—it fizzled, then remarkably came on, the console lighting up. The propeller started spinning. James backed away, kept his gaze locked on Da Silva. Slowly, shakily, he saluted her.

"Yeah," she chuckled, the helicopter rising, rain hammering the glass, filling the cockpit, obscuring their forms. She saluted, gave one last smug smile, and then was flying off towards the colossal battle.

James watched the helicopter vanish into the dark. Mary came up next to him, held his hand. He squeezed it.

* * *

"I . . . _am Princess Heart_!"

Bright, golden light enveloped Heather. Her uniform reappeared, trimmed in gold; large, translucent fairy wings emerged from her back; a tiara materialized on her head. She held out her hand, a spear of light developing in it, solidifying into a staff with a jewel heart at its end. She turned to the great demon far away, eyes clear, the resolve in them burning. "No one else dies!" she screamed, her voice rising above the thunderous, stormy bedlam around her. "This ends now! Flauros, _I'm coming for you_!"

And then she was running, jumping, launching right off the rooftop and through the rain, sailing straight for the demon, pink and gold streams of light emanating from her form, incinerating any attacking Tuberculosis demons.

Flauros stirred, looked up, acknowledged the source of power rapidly approaching itself. It roared, louder and far more powerful than ever before, shattering windows, destroying streetlamps, bursting traffic lights. Its wings outstretched, its tail unhinged itself from the tower, its claws spread out wide.

Heather held out her staff, the heart glowing, shimmering with pink light. It sprouted suddenly into a blade and then grew, quickly elongating. With a ferocious, furious cry, Heather swiped at the demon, cutting deep into its massive chest, knocking it off its roost. It fell back, crashing into a host of buildings, but quickly found its footing—the tail was already coming around, cleaving stone and metal in two, making a wide arc for the girl.

Heather turned, saw it. She moved like lightning, flipping around, deftly dodging the tail as it demolished the entire area surrounding them. Debris and smoke and dust went up everywhere, an explosion of falling bricks and metal and stone and steel and windows and cars and streetlamps and whole buildings, all rising into the air and falling amid the rain and darkness. Heather leapt from one building to another, running down their lengths, never missing a single step, her gaze fixed squarely on the demon waiting for her. Its chest heaved, swelled—the familiar crimson light bubbled up, grew brighter, hotter. She was already moving, leaping, flying away as the blast shot out like an erupting volcano, cremating the field of rubble, obliterating cars, burning right through cement, dissolving asphalt.

Heather landed on another rooftop, barely touching down when she noticed the humongous jet stream of fire arcing towards her, portions of it dripping, splattering onto the streets below, burning right through trees and parks and jungle gyms and whole bars and restaurants. Her wings flapped mightily, dust and water rising around her, and then was taking flight, shooting up like a bullet as the stream destroyed the building she had been on. But she wasn't quick enough to avoid the claw coming down towards her, a black, shapeless obelisk plummeting through cloud and rain, batting her suddenly, knocking her easily out of the sky and through a window, through a sofa, through a minibar.

She planted her staff down, used it as leverage, quickly and messily braked to a stop. Within seconds she was back on her feet, spitting out blood, her wings glowing more brightly with light, a golden aura shining around her. She flew out, landed a dropkick directly on Flauros' jaw. The blow sent the giant monster stumbling, but it was quick to right itself. Its eyes glowed; its muscles bulged. Red electricity sparked around its torso, its chest, its wings, and then the sky was lighting up red, ellipses of crimson light forming, bubbling with power. Bolts of bloody red lightning suddenly came down, slicing through buildings, blowing huge chunks of street into the sky. Heather darted, twirled, spun around them, but moved too slow—a bolt blindsided her, struck her back, left a black burn mark where it hit.

She went down instantly, screaming, but the anger returned tenfold and quickly eclipsed the pain. She bolted back up into the rain, shouting out, eyes glowing yellow. "_Mega Heather beam_!" She bombarded the demon with lasers, shooting holes through its wings, down its chest, leaving behind searing, red-hot holes oozing with black blood. Flauros struck out, its wings slicing through more rubble, its claws lashing into building, across rain. Heather whipped up and around, dodged its attacks, delivered a powerful swing with her staff across its face. The demon's head snapped back, buts its red glare was quickly back on her, more enraged than before. The tail flung back around, and Heather barely had time to put her arms up and brace herself before she was smacked through a series of buildings, all the way down to the streets below.

She bounced and toppled like a ragdoll before skidding to a halt. This time it was harder to stand, her head ringing, blood and sweat and rain clogging her eyes. But there was still that haze of fury driving her, powering her—there was still the image of Henry's bloody, dead face—there was still the memory of Eileen's big, dumb grin, her kooky laugh—there was still her father, smiling at her, telling her to go back, ushering her into the light. No. _No_. No more dying! No more suffering! _No more_!

"I . . . am going . . . to _FUCKING KILL YOU_!" she bellowed, rising up, raising her staff. Flauros glided towards her, its wings obscuring the blue glow of the sky, leaving only a blanket of black in her vision, punctuated by two awful, horrible red eyes. Heather clenched her fists, ground her teeth together, felt another surge of power filling her. "_YOU ARE GOING TO FUCKING DIE_! _ALL OF YOU GODDAMN DEMONS_!"

She flew towards it, saw its chest glow again. Her body was tired, aching, flushed with pain, but she pushed, flew up right as the beam of fire shot out. She zoomed around the demon, held her staff out before her, and started spinning, so fast that a vortex of pink, glittering light surrounded her. Like a bullet, she burrowed through Flauros' side, tearing through muscle and blood and tendon and flesh and organ, blasting out of the other side. And then she went in again, and again, and again, and again. She carved hole after hole through the demon's body, covering herself in its blood, drenching herself in its mucus and acid. Finally, she buried herself into its chest, firing lasers, spinning as fast as she could, unleashing as much energy as possible. She screamed, exerted almost all of it—Flauros' chest burst open, exploding with pink light, leaving a steaming gigantic crater behind.

Heather floated out of it, dizzy, dazed, on the verge of blacking out. And yet still the beast stood, bleeding out, wounded beyond belief. Still did it roar. Still did it face her with its crimson eyes. Still did it lunge with a claw.

She watched the claw come for her, felt the last bits of rage exponentially magnify, felt them balloon. Heather let it all out, let all of her energy spill into her staff, felt even her very life draining. "JUST . . . _**DIE**_!" she boomed, rising up, an enormous blade of gold and silver light forming around her staff. It rose high into the sky, breaking through dark cloud, through air, breaching into the topmost sphere beneath the atmosphere, where the sun still shone, where the light was golden and warm. She brought it down, her uniform dissolving into light around her, her wings disappearing. The blade wedged into the space between the demon's right shoulder and neck, blood spewing and spurting, blinding Heather. She forced it down, sawed through Flauros' body, sliced it down all the way through. Its arm and a chunk of its body separated, huge amounts of blood splashing down, flooding the streets. Heather's staff vanished. Her wings dissolved completely. Her uniform was gone. And she fell.

She lay still for a moment, unbelievably wary, beyond exhausted, and then fought against the temptation to close her eyes, struggled to stay conscious. She stood up, arms and legs shaking from fatigue, red and black blood all over her, rain drenching her, and watched as Flauros wavered, as it threatened to collapse. Lights began to flicker back on. Electricity was resurging. And then, no more than a minute later, a helicopter zigzagging through the air, the tail clipped, the propeller damaged. It was coming fast, barreling right for the demon. Heather looked up at it; inside, Da Silva grinned one last time, jammed on the controls. The missiles unhinged, detonated on impact, tore through the monster's head and shoulder, blasted apart its leg. And then the helicopter itself rammed into the crater on its chest, exploded, burst into flame.

Heather was dumbstruck, but slowly she understood, slowly she registered. Flauros let out one last cry, crumpling, burning. Its servants circled it, barking in fright, writhing in worry. Then there was the orange glow, the formation of a new egg, a black shell forming, developing. "No," said Heather, limping towards it, the pocket mirror glowing in her hand. "It's not gonna be enough! Goddamn it, fuck it all!" She prepared to throw the pocket mirror. "Blow it up," she said breathlessly. "Just blow it to fucking bits."

She swung her arm, poised to throw—

"_Flauros_!"

She stopped, turned. A figure stood on a nearby rooftop—Margaret Holloway, still alive, still somehow functional, half of her body having reverted to its human state, her wounds bleeding badly. Runes had been carved into her body—into her arms, into her legs, across her chest, along her torso. The same runes from the prism.

"Flauros!" she cried. "I'm here, my darling! You don't need to worry! You don't need to be scared! You just need a new vessel! You just need a new home to nourish yourself on, a new flesh!" She spread her arms wide, smiled, blood pouring out of her mouth. "I give myself to you! All of it! Everything! I am yours, my beautiful, darling child! _Yours_!"

She shouted some incantation, some old spell, and then the runes on her body glowed. She loosed one last, ecstatic scream—hooked chains emerged from her body, pulled her mouth open wide. Flauros' body disintegrated, became a whirlwind of red, black smoke. It rose up like a tornado and then spiraled towards her, into her, filling her up like a balloon. Heather watched in horror as Holloway disappeared into a maelstrom of brown and black, heavy winds blowing around cars and rubble and wreckage. Red sparks of electricity shot out; an orange glow emanated. From their place on the roof of the department store, James, Mary, Elle, Claudia, and MacDonald also looked on.

"What _is_ that?" Mary cried.

"Heather," James said, and then he turned. "We have to help her!"

The maelstrom grew larger, more violent. Heather fell to her knees, no longer able to stand, no longer able to muster strength. She looked into the tumult, saw something growing, saw something transforming, mutating. Then there was a laugh, an inhuman cackle, one of both insane glee and tortured agony.

The dark shape within expanded. Heather gripped the pocket mirror hard, tried to feel its warmth one more time, before it was too late.

* * *

Eileen saw it as she came over the edge of the crevasse—a gigantic rusted, steel gate that spanned for miles in both directions. A padlock hung across from them, very old. Eileen stood, surveyed the vast, empty space between the crevasse and the gate. It was empty. No demons. Just red dirt, rust, and steel grating—just black and bloody sky, flashing with lightning in the distance.

"We made it," Selina said, standing beside Eileen. "That's the gate barring the way to the human realm. It keeps the demons from breaking through and invading your world."

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive," Eileen said. She approached it, whistling. "Look at this motherfucker. You guys don't have immigration problems, that's for sure." She pointed at the padlock. "How do we unlock it?"

"With this key," Alessa said, rising up from the crevasse, holding up a small, rusted key. "It's the responsibility of the fairy monarchs to guard this gate, to make sure it never opens. If it did, any number of demons could come through, wreak havoc on the human world."

"They already are," said Eileen. "Come on, let's get this over with. Then I can go back, kick some ass, save the day, and this whole nightmare can end."

She looked at Alessa expectantly, but the other girl was contemplative, her eyes on the gate, and then on the key. She clutched it tightly—and then placed it into her pocket. "I can't," she said after a pause. "Not yet."

Selina turned to her. "Alessa?"

Even Arthur was puzzled. "Alessa, what are you talking about? We didn't come all this way for nothing!"

The girl closed her eyes, breathed in deeply. "I'll open it," she said, "if Eileen can prove herself and defeat me."

"What?" Selina blurted. Arthur took her arm.

"Alessa," he said, "what the hell are you saying? Look, she annoys me, too, but this is crazy!"

"It's not crazy," Alessa said, shrugging him off and stepping forward. She faced Eileen, who looked straight back, steely-faced, determined. "Eileen is asking me to do what no fairy queen has done for centuries. She wants me to leave the very gates to Hell wide open while she marches through with my mother's soul on her wrist."

Eileen narrowed her eyes. "Alessa."

"Everything I said before was true," said Alessa. "I was a witch in my human life, an outcast. For all my talents, my intelligence, my beauty—I was still a failure. It didn't matter who you were to the Order—to Dahlia, I should say. Your personality, your goals, your wants, your dreams, they didn't mean anything. I was a tool, just like I said. I wasn't human in her eyes. I was a piece of meat with a very simple purpose, and I failed at it.

"It's not a purpose I wanted. It's not one I agreed with. I fought against it, against them all. I did everything in my power to stop them. But it wasn't for love. It wasn't for mankind or any real notion of justice. It was a lot of anger. A lot of revenge. Maybe I justified it in my mind, thinking it was for something higher than that—but I really just wanted to kill her. I really just wanted to destroy those awful people that had taken away my life, my childhood, my very happiness.

"Heather was right to be emotional, to be angry. She could feel all of those things. But I couldn't. I knew it deep down that I had been wronged, and I wanted to know what it was like—to have a family, a true mother and a true father. To have a sister. I think part of me wanted to know why Heather had gotten that and I didn't. But I didn't fault her. Still, was I helping her? Maybe, maybe not. It wasn't love, it was just . . . something I had to do.

"And when I died, there was relief—but there was also purpose. Becoming a fairy, taking my place at my true mother's side . . . that was everything. For once, finally, someone was treating me with kindness, not even because I was her daughter, but because . . . I was _me_. I was a person. She recognized that. And so did Selina, and Arthur, and all the other fairies. I was home, with the people I knew I had always been meant to protect."

Alessa stopped. Tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down at the ground, felt herself trembling, shaking with emotion. "But now she's gone. She gave her life—for a noble cause, yes. The only cause, the _best_ one. For all the right reasons. I know why she did it, I'm glad that she did, but—I'll never see her again. Now _I_ have to protect the fairies. I have to make these decisions. I have to fight and be strong."

She removed her bracelet, held it in a fist. "You have to prove to me, Eileen," she said, surprisingly strong. "You have to prove to me that you're worth it. That my mother's life did not go in vain. Show me that potential you were talking about. Show me that love. I have to see it for myself before I can let you go."

Her fist radiated with red light. "_Transform_!" she cried, the light surrounding her. It faded, leaving Lady Heart in its wake, her rapier pointed at Eileen. "Come on! Show me what my mother died for!"

Eileen was grim, but her eyes were clear. She nodded. "I will, Alessa," she said, flipping open the morpher. "I'll show you. We'll let our hearts do the talking. _Let's rock_!"

Blue light enveloped her, and she came out of it as Magnum Heart. "Alright!" she shouted. "If you want to do it, then come on! I have people I have to protect, too!"

"Good," Alessa said. "_Let's go_!"

They went for each other, Arthur and Selina's protestations falling away, replaced by thunderous clashes and valiant screams.

**END EPISODE 05**

**Numbness.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	6. The Break of Day!

**+ Princess Heart and the Never-Ending Night! +**

**Episode 06: The Break of Day! Princess Heart's Triumphant Victory or Defeat?!**

"_Stop_!" Selina screamed, rushing into the middle of the battlefield. "Stop fighting! This isn't the way!" But her words went unheeded—Alessa and Eileen clashed, swipes and stabs of Alessa's rapier splitting apart the ground, Eileen's punches and kicks releasing immense gusts of force with each attack.

Arthur grabbed Selina, held her back. "You'll get killed if you go out there!" he said. "Keep it together! Stay out of it!"

"But it's not right!" she protested. "They're supposed to be allies! They're both fairy princesses! They want the same thing!"

"Maybe," Arthur said, "but I know Alessa. She might seem fine on the outside, but underneath, she's always been angry. She's always been crazy pissed. There's a fire there, and it doesn't just go out. It keeps burning. If Eileen wants her to help, she has to beat her. That's just how it is."

"But . . ." Selina watched the two girls fight, their arena a massive crater before the gate leading to the human world, sparks and bolts flying all around. "They'll kill each other."

Down in the pit, Eileen clicked her tongue, wiped some blood from her mouth. "You're pretty good," she said. "I guess I would've been stupid to expect anything else."

Alessa, hardly fazed, raised her rapier again. "There's no time for talk," she barked. "You're fighting to help your friends, aren't you? You're trying to get back to earth as soon as possible? So why are you wasting time talking? _Why aren't you fighting_?"

"I'm trying to psyche you out," Eileen said, summoning her guitar in a flash of pink and purple, "_but I guess that's not working_!" She flew at Alessa, swung down hard; the other girl flipped away, the guitar slamming into the dirt, causing a sudden, bright explosion. Eileen turned, ready for another go, when a whip snapped around the end of the guitar, pulled her towards Alessa. She held her ground, then jerked herself back—it was Alessa that was suddenly pulled forward.

"Yeah!" said Eileen, grinning. "Gotcha—"

Somersaulting through the air, Alessa let go of the whip, and out of her hand fell a glowing rose. Eileen's eyes widened, her mouth opened, and then the rose detonated, engulfing her in an explosion. Alessa landed across from her. She scanned the horizon quickly, saw demons approaching from far-off. This will have to be settled soon, she thought.

Selina and Arthur watched as the smoke cleared. "Eileen?" she said. "Is she—"

"Nah," said Arthur. "The chick's too tough to go out like that."

Alessa waited, staring at the smoke intently, and then she saw it—a pink flash, a glimmer. And then her jaw was spinning to the left, Eileen's fist coming away from it. The blow knocked her senseless, totally left her dazed, and then Eileen was punching away, rapidly burying her fists into her gut, her face. "You're right!" Eileen said, her uniform covered in soot, blood trickling from her lips. "I _don't_ have time for this! So I'm ending it now!"

Alessa stumbled back from the flurry of punches, but she was quick to recover. She ducked under Eileen's next punch and then easily swept her off her feet with a kick. Eileen fell, tumbled, rolled away from the rapier piercing the ground she'd been previously. She got up, dodged a kick, but took the next one, and then the next. She staggered, but held onto her bearings, looking up just in time to see Alessa charging.

The rapier came forth, aimed directly at Eileen's chest, but the girl side-stepped, just enough for the rapier to sail harmlessly by. She then clamped her arm down, trapping Alessa in front of her. Eileen went for a punch, but it was Alessa's turn to pin her arm, leaving the two girls tied together, trying fiercely to pull apart.

"Ah, fuck it!" Eileen cried, rearing her head back. With a snarl, she slammed her head into Alessa's. It came back bloody and bruised, but then it was coming down again, and again, and again. "Just . . . fucking . . . _stop_!" Eileen roared with each headbutt, until finally she delivered one particularly powerful strike.

Both girls fell. Eileen landed on her back and rubbed her bruised, bleeding forehead. "Son of a bitch," she mumbled, sitting up. "Goddamn, Alessa. What the fuck."

Alessa meanwhile stood up, holding up a hand to her own head. Eileen chuckled. "Listen," she said, "let's just call it quits, okay? Fuck it. We're just gonna kill each other, and that's no good for anyone.

Alessa looked at her, blood running down her face, and shook her head. "No," she said. "No, this isn't over yet. You haven't beaten me."

"Alessa, come _on_. This is fucking _stupid_!"

"It's not stupid at all," Alessa said, throwing her rapier aside. "I have to fight. _I have to_. It's the only way. I can't let you go otherwise."

Eileen got up, tried to focus her dizzying gaze. "I know how you feel," she said, "but right now this is bigger than us. If I don't get back to earth—"

"If it's so important," Alessa said, "then finish it. You shouldn't have a problem stopping me—no matter how powerful I get."

"What?" Eileen winced, raised her arms to shield herself from a sudden blast of wind. The ashy sky darkened; the emblazoned heart on Alessa's chest glowed. Her long dark hair floated up; her fists clenched. A red aura surrounded, then swallowed her.

Eileen stepped back, raised her fists. The light faded, leaving Alessa with a her uniform trimmed in gold and a tiara on her head. A scepter with a crystal rose was in her hand, and large, shining, golden wings emerged from her back.

"Uh oh," said Arthur. "She's pulling out all the stops."

Eileen grinned. "Super Lady Heart, huh? Great! I was getting bored!"

Alessa held the scepter out, the rose glowing red. "Get ready, Eileen!" she yelled. "I'm not holding back anymore!"

"Fucking bring it on!" Eileen rushed at her.

* * *

New York City rumbled and shook. Huddled together within shelters, in locked-down apartments, in barricaded stores and hospitals, people listened to the raging, volatile storm that overtook the city. They looked through cracks, stared through shattered windows, saw a gargantuan form rise from the brown and red vortex where Flauros had fallen. But what convulsed and writhed and trembled was no longer Flauros—Heather could tell that much, weary and beaten as she was, barely able to stand, her knees threatening to buckle, her arms hanging limp, her eyelids ready to collapse at any moment, consumed by exhaustion.

The dark mass bulged, grew, assumed shape—an enormous, decrepit head, a nose, tendrils protruding of faded, sickly yellow, erupting, resembling hair. The vortex ripped through stone and cement, through tree and asphalt, through traffic light and car. The tendrils punctured the ground like needles into skin, running like roots, taking hold, wrapping themselves around wreckage, entwining around debris. Huge, gray, decayed hands burrowed up from rubble, grasping hungrily. They reached out, snatched Tuberculosis demons like flies out of the air, crushed them, threw their broken bodies to the ground below.

Heather felt her spirits falling, felt her will to fight quickly draining. "This is bullshit," she said, suddenly laughing, each pang aching her chest. "How much more do I have to do? I just . . . I fucking can't. I can't do it anymore." She sat down, her arms over her knees, violent winds blowing past, a terrible heat emanating from the growing abomination. Its huge, hideous mouth opened, filled with sharp, wet teeth.

"_**PRINCESS HEART!**_" came a voice from somewhere within the dark maw. "_**I have transformed! My beautiful, darling Flauros—he and I are one! I can feel his heart beating in my own, feel his blood elevating me! We are the next step, the unification of human and demon! All of the power, the ferocity, the bloodlust, directed by intelligence, by will, by motive! We are the perfect life! We are the beginning and the end!**_"

"Who cares anymore?" Heather asked. She stood up on wobbly feet. "If you're gonna do it, _then just fucking do it_! _Kill us all if that's what you're gonna do_!" She stumbled back, her hand still clutching the pocket mirror, still feeling its warmth. "You know what?" she said. "At least demons don't feel anything. At least they don't get hurt. They just . . . kill. Kill and eat. That's all they have to do. They don't have to feel—"

"Mason!"

She looked up, hearing something amid the chaos. "Wha—"

"Mason, stop being a little crybaby bitch! I didn't fucking save you so you could just curl up and die! You're still alive, remember? You're still Princess Heart!"

She blinked. "Townshend? What the fuck—"

"Shut up and listen!" said the voice, all around her, inside of her, far away. "Suffering's a fact of life. Everyone gets hurt. Everyone dies. Everyone loses everything. It just happens—there's nothing you can do about it. Sure, it sucks, but it's just the way it is. The important thing is that _you're still alive_. You can still make it better. Even if you lose everyone, even if you're alone, you're still alive, Mason. You have the power to change things, to make them better for everyone still here."

"But I . . . I can't win," Heather said softly. "I'm just—I'm not strong enough—"

"You are strong, Heather."

The voice changed. Her eyes widened, filled with tears. "Dad? Daddy?"

"This is who you are," the voice said sweetly, tenderly. "I knew that, ever since you were born, ever since I decided to take care of you. I wanted to give you a chance at a normal life. I wanted you to be happy. But I knew it wouldn't last—it couldn't. Because nothing can. Everything's fleeting. Everything's a moment. It's here and it's gone."

"I—"

"Cheryl, listen to me."

She closed her eyes, and there she was, a little girl in a grassy field, caught in the shade of a large tree, the sky above a deep blue, the clouds white and puffy and soft. Her father was there, her hand in his. He was looking away.

"You are Princess Heart," he said. "You didn't choose that, and neither did I. But it's the truth. It's who you are—what you were meant to do. And it's lonely. It means giving up what you want. It means taking on a burden that you should have never been yours."

He turned to her, smiling. "But, Cheryl, you can still choose for yourself. You can choose to be Princess Heart. It doesn't have to be a burden. It doesn't have to be a punishment. It can be an opportunity—a duty you appreciate. It can be a miracle."

He placed his hands on the little girl's shoulders, caressed her cheeks. "No matter what, you'll always be you. You'll always be Cheryl Mason. And you'll always be my daughter. Whatever you decide, sweetie—I will love you. Always."

The girl was awestruck, on the verge of tears—and then her eyes hardened with resolve. Her small mouth settled into a determined line. "I am Princess Heart," she said, looking into her father's eyes. "I—_I am Princess Heart_."

Heather faced the monstrosity that had once been Margaret Holloway and Flauros—she summoned all of the power she had left—she held up the pocket mirror. "_I am Princess Heart_!" she screamed. "_And by the power of the heart and true love's light, I'm sending you back to hell_!"

She brandished the pocket mirror; it opened, let out a brief, blinding light. "_Heart power_!" she yelled, transforming, her wings materializing, her staff solidifying. The demon laughed, a loud, guttural, inhuman sound.

"_**I will feast upon you, Princess Heart!**_" Holloway bellowed from somewhere far within the darkness. "_**I will chew your flesh, devour your bones, drink up your blood!**_ _**And once I have engorged myself, once I have fed to my fill, I will take that precious soul of yours, that little light, and I will snuff it out!**_"

"Just try it!" Heather shouted, flourishing her staff. Her wings flapped, and she took flight, headed into the maelstrom. Immediately the legion of dead hands snapped out at her, the gray flesh melting off their fingers, their bones revealing themselves. She flew around, evaded swipes, avoided grasps. Each swing of her staff took out a hand, severing it from a wrist or destroying the arm altogether, but two more emerged from the ashes of each one vanquished.

"This is getting me nowhere," Heather muttered, turning towards the source of the vortex, the massive, mutated head. She flew towards it, wings glowing, staff surging with power. She cried out, ready to attack, when jets of black, crackling lightning shot out at her. One of them clipped her wing; another grazed her side, left an ashen scorch mark in its wake. The blows were enough to send her spiraling to the ground, disoriented, lost. There was a whirlwind of brown and black and red, more hands coming for her, chaos all around.

"_Heather beam_!" she yelled desperately, dissolving the hands, buying enough time for one more mad dash for the center. She could feel the recent burst of energy already failing, could feel her body giving out, pushed to its limit and beyond. But then she saw it—Holloway's enormous, deformed head, the wide, open, black of the mouth, the oozing teeth—

Another hand appeared, this one bigger, darker, more muscular, came straight out of the darkness of the mouth. Heather didn't have time to react; it caught her, ensnared her in its fist. Instantly it was applying weight, tightening. She screamed, felt her bones compress, felt her body restrict. "_**Is this the extent of your power, Princess Heart?**_" Holloway yelled, laughing maniacally. "_**You're so weak, so puny! You're still so human!**_"

"Fuck off!" Heather screamed. "I . . . am going to stop you . . . _even if it's the last thing I fucking do_!"

Holloway only laughed once again. The arm suddenly lit up with black electricity. It consumed Heather, her screams drowned out by Holloway's cackling and the surrounding uproar. "_**Foolish girl!**_" said Holloway, flinging Heather away, her uniform charred, her skin bleeding and battered. "_**You are outclassed, outperformed! The power of the demons is limitless!**_"

Heather landed outside of the billowing tumult, lay still upon the shattered, broken street. "I'm . . . not done yet," she stammered, slowly rising, lightheaded and shaky. "I'm . . . not through . . ." She stumbled over onto her knees, spat out a wad of blood. The temptation to just roll over and close her eyes, to just lie down and let it fade away slowly—it took everything to stay upright, to keep her eyes open and focused on the darkness ahead. She was alive. And as long as she was alive, as long as she was still breathing—

"Heather!"

The voice caught her attention, brought her sluggishly around. It was Claudia, shambling on one leg, leaning against Mary. It was James, Elle, and a young soldier. "You guys," she managed, losing her balance, falling to one knee. "You—you need to get out of here. It's not . . . it's not safe . . ."

"Oh my god," Claudia gasped. "Heather—"

"I'm okay, Clau," the girl said slowly. "I'm fine. Just . . . gotta catch my breath."

Steely, James knelt beside her, took her arm. "We're not leaving you, Heather," he said. "Either you come with us, or we fight. We're sticking together."

Heather looked at him, then at Elle, then at Mary—all of them were stony-faced, resolute, determined. But she knew deep down there was also acceptance. An understanding that time was up, the trip one-way. There wasn't any going back. There wasn't any running, wasn't any escaping. This was it.

"Okay," she said, standing with James's help. "Okay. We fight, then. We can't let this go on anymore."

"_**Princess Heart!**_" Holloway's massive form lurched towards them, its dead hands destroying everything in its path. "_**It's time to surrender yourself to us! My dear Flauros is hungry for your blood!**_"

Heather held out her hand, conjured her staff. She looked back one last time at the others. Claudia was the last to return her gaze, but she did. She nodded. She smiled. "Come on, bitch!" she screamed, turning back, teeth ground together, eyes alit. "If you want me so bad, come and get me! I'm not gonna make it easy!"

And then there was darkness heading their way, a giant mass of it, full of hands, carrying Holloway's depraved, manic glee. The staff glowed. Heather thrust it into the ground, erected a bright, pink shield around herself and the others, prepared for the impact.

* * *

"Is that it?" Alessa demanded, batting Eileen away with her scepter. "Is that all you can do, Eileen? Is that all my mother died for?"

The other girl rolled away, got feebly up to her feet. Alessa was too fast, too strong—she was like a mirage, moving too quickly to catch, one moment firing red lasers, another moment manifesting crimson shields. Eileen's punches and kicks met nothing but air, but Alessa's swings, her blasts, her explosions, all of them connected. The gulf between their power levels was simply too extreme, too massive. And yet—it was thrilling. Eileen's fighting spirit, her bloodlust, her own frustration and anxiety—all of it was building up, releasing, keeping her standing. She relished it.

Selina and Arthur looked on from the edge of the arena. "She's going to die again," Selina said softly, her voice hardly above a whisper. "Eileen can't keep this up."

Arthur glanced at her, cleared his throat. "Alessa," he called, "maybe cool it. Look, you made your point—"

"Stay out of this, Arthur!" Alessa snapped back. "This doesn't concern you. This is between me and Eileen."

"It's petty!" Selina cried. "Alessa, I'm sorry, but there are more important—"

"_This_ is what's important!" Alessa said. "This is all that matters. Right here, right now. This fight is everything."

Eileen chuckled, wiped at her chin. "She's right!" she called out. "Don't worry about me, Selina. I can feel her heart—all of the anger, the sadness. It's pent-up, but it's there. It needs to come out. If this is how it has to be, then fine. I can take it! I _have_ to take it!"

"Eileen—"

"Enough," said Alessa. "If you can take it, then I won't hold back anymore. Show me, Eileen! Show me your heart!" She raised the scepter, the rose at its tip shining. With a graceful, elegant turn it came down, a volley of rose petals following it. "Here it comes! _Super Rose Storm_!" Alessa spun around, swung her scepter, a storm of rose petals suddenly surrounding her, suddenly flying towards Eileen.

"Bring it on!" Eileen held up her arms, shielded herself from the onslaught of rose petals. They were unbelievably fast, razor sharp—each one that hit her felt like a blade, taking off skin, spilling blood. All she could do was stand amid the hurricane, withstand the pain—until the petals lit up a bright, vibrant red.

"Now!" Alessa shouted. "_Detonate_!"

Eileen looked up, wide-eyed, too late. "What—"

The petals exploded all at once; together, they resulted in an enormous, fiery explosion. Selina watched with bated breath. Arthur was silent. The force of the explosion threw Alessa's hair back, the light sparkling back in her eyes. As the smoke cleared, plumes of it rising up, she looked down, balled a fist.

Meanwhile, Eileen floated in darkness.

_I . . . am I dead?_ she thought, and then, with sudden, agonizing fear, _Again?_

"No," came a soft, soothing voice. There was a pinprick of light in the total, all-encompassing black—a small, glistening dot. "Your heart is pure, Eileen. The fairy magic may weaken your own, but it will never hurt you."

Eileen opened her eyes. "Who's there?"

The light expanded, filled her vision. There was a figure, a shimmering green dress, illustrious yellow hair. "I am here for you, Eileen," the fairy queen said, smiling serenely. She floated down and took the girl's hands. "You are my blood, whether or not you are my daughter. You carry with you my legacy."

"Your Grace—"

"It's alright," the queen said. "There are depths to my power you haven't yet unlocked. There are depths I have not used for many eons." Her hands began to glow, as did Eileen's. "Take it, Eileen. Save your loved ones. Defeat Flauros. Restore your world—defend it. Your cause is now mine."

The queen smiled, her body disappearing, disintegrating into flickers of light. "I believe in you. Quell the rage within Alessa's heart. Protect her and the others. And—please. Look after Heather."

Teary-eyed, Eileen nodded. "I will," she said, the queen's light covering her like a blanket. It was warm, safe. It reminded her of childhood, of carefree summers, of video games in the dimming afternoons, of going fishing with her father, of spying on a young Henry in his backyard. "I'll protect them. All of them."

Alessa turned away from the clearing smoke, sighing, and then paused. There was a hum, like a hot, burning light bulb. She looked back, heard Selina let out a joyous cry—Eileen rose up as the smoke vanished around her, clad in gleaming, silver Valkyrian armor, white angelic wings extending behind her. A glowing green heart shone on her chest plate.

"Alessa," she said, holding out a silver, cylindrical hilt, a beam of green light shooting out from it, forming a blade. "It's time to finish this."

"I see you've awakened your latent power," Alessa said, raising her scepter. "Fine! Come on, then!" She spun, swung her scepter. "_Super Rose Storm_!"

A fresh storm of rose petals appeared, hurtled towards Eileen. The girl's wings spread out, and she flew headfirst into the storm, a rainbow trailing behind her, her lightsaber cutting through the rose petals effortlessly. "_Detonate_!" Alessa shouted, but still Eileen flew, unaffected by the explosion, a radiant aura around her. Alessa saw the holy light coming for her, quickly understood the threat it presented. She raised her scepter, closed her eyes, anticipated the blow—

Eileen slashed, the green light of her lightsaber swiftly cutting Alessa's scepter in two. The halves of the scepter fell to the ground, disappeared into orange light. The tip of the lightsaber came down, stopped inches from Alessa's exposed neck. Eileen looked down at her.

"So," said Alessa with a sigh, "my mother really has chosen you."

Eileen shook her head. "No," she said, the blade of the lightsaber receding, her armor vanishing. "It's just . . . I need the power to protect the people I care about. And your mom figured she'd help me." Eileen smiled. "I won't let that go to waste, Alessa. You can count on me."

There was silence. Alessa stood still, then returned the smile. Her uniform faded. "Then that's it. You beat me, Eileen. It's up to you now." She reached into her pocket and brought out the small, rusted key. "This will unlock the gate. You'll be able to go back."

Eileen took the key, nodded. "Thanks. I'll stop that demon. I'll make sure we win."

"Good. That's all I can ask of you."

Eileen walked over to the gate's padlock and inserted the key. With a turn, the padlock groaned and came apart. The metal of the gate parted, left the abyss, the mouth of the portal, unguarded.

Selina and Arthur were beside Alessa. Eileen turned around to them, flashed a thumbs-up. "Looks like this is it," she said. "I'm off!"

"Eileen," Selina said, coming forward, "good luck."

"Nah," said Eileen, "I don't need no luck. I'm Magnum Heart, remember?" She looked back to the portal, clenched her fists. "Yeah . . . I'm Magnum Heart. Okay!" She ran for the portal, jumped in, opened her morpher.

"_Let's rock, baby_!"

* * *

The wave of darkness crashed against Heather's barrier, sent all of its occupants ducking, screaming. "Oh, God!" Elle shouted. "Is this it?"

"No!" cried Heather, holding the staff up firmly, wedging her boots into the ground. "No—I won't let it! I can still fight back!" She tipped the staff forward, the barrier extending, holding the darkness at bay. It dug slowly into the black, a blade of pink amid dark. Howls of rage, wails of guilt, laments of sorrow raged around them, swirling chaotically. "It's like—like the dead are crying," Claudia said. "Everyone that demon's killed—they're crying out for help."

"There will be a lot more if we don't stop this," James said. "Heather, you can do it! We believe in you!" He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Guys, take my hand! Form a chain!"

Mary grabbed his hand, Elle grabbed hers, and Claudia took Elle's. The girl turned to MacDonald, reached for him—but he was huddled in the corner of the barrier, shaking, struck with fear. "Come on," said Claudia. "Take my hand! We need your power!"

"What—what's the point?" he said. "We're gonna die, don't you get it? We're fucking gonna die!"

"No!" yelled James over the noise. "We can make it! We just . . . we just have to believe in Heather. We have to believe!"

Their interlinking hands glowed briefly, sent a small light to Heather. It surrounded her, helped her stand, helped her push forward. The barrier grew, but for every advance, the darkness intensified, became more violent, more powerful. "I need—I need more!" Heather shouted. "_I need more_!"

Holloway's laugh reached them once again. "_**Your souls belong to me, Princess Heart!**_" she cackled. "_**They belong to Flauros! Give them up! Become one with us!**_"

"Fuck you!" roared Heather. "I'm . . . not . . . giving . . . _up_!"

The raging maelstrom expanded, overtook, consume, ate. It covered blocks, streets, whole stretches of city. Blue lights flew up in droves, joining the darkness, circling towards the epicenter, the source, Holloway's colossal, gruesome form. "_**I will spread! I will grow!**_" she laughed. "_**The entire world covered in total darkness! Billions of souls harvested, animal, human, all of it feeding Flauros, empowering him! All life extinguished, sacrificed, bled into the abyss! The whole world a vehicle for Flauros—a comet to travel through the expanse, to devour life, to build, to evolve, to grow always, always STRONGER!**_"

"No!" said Heather. "No, that's not happening! You don't get to win, goddamn you!"

She stepped back, the weight of the darkness ten times more crushing, ten times more powerful. Mary looked back at MacDonald, hissed at him. "Come on! We need you now! You just have to believe in Heather!"

"But I can't," he stammered. "I'm not—"

"_Just take Claudia's hand_!" Mary yelled. "_Please, just do it_!"

Shaken by her tone, he finally stumbled towards them and took hold of Claudia's hand. "I'll believe!" he said. "I'll believe as much as I have to if it keeps me alive!"

The light around Heather grew a little brighter, a little stronger. It kept her upright, kept her hands around the staff, but the darkness never stopped growing, never stopped exerting its force. Heather's muscles burned; her eyes stung with sweat, blood, and tears. "I still—I still need more!" she screamed. "_Fuck it all_!"

James looked on at the billowing black, felt doubt fill him, then dread. "It's not enough," he said. "If only we had Henry and Alex—if only—"

"Keep it together, James!" Elle said. "One thing after another, remember? Just keep focusing! Don't stop!"

He stared at her, then nodded, reaffirmed his resolve. "One thing after another," he said, repeating it, chanting it. "One thing after another, one thing after another, one thing after another—"

The barrier rocked with another wave of fresh force. This one buckled Heather, knocked her to her knees. Her grip on the staff slipped—the barrier waned. "Please," she muttered, crying, sobbing, "please, I just . . . I just need more power. I just need more!" All around them the wails and cries were louder, more prominent. The hurricane pulled up rubble and debris, corpses, cars, traffic lights, lampposts. The city itself was ripping apart, coming undone, rain and lightning everywhere, winds tearing through it all, demons and humans alike caught in the vortex, the destruction unending, unstoppable, unimaginable.

"I'm choosing this," Heather said softly, weakly, quietly, touching her forehead against the staff, closing her eyes. Everything went silent. She focused hard, scrunching up her features, but fatigue quickly overcame her, suddenly and violently ran through her blood, penetrated the last reservoirs of her will. "I . . . I am Princess Heart . . ." she mumbled. "I . . . am . . . Princess Heart . . . So why . . . why is this happening?"

They were alone, a small pink sphere in total, complete, all-consuming chaos. Heather crumpled, her hands barely holding the staff. "Dad," she said, her voice gone, her chest heaving with sobs, her throat clogged, "Henry . . . Eileen . . . I'm sorry—I can't—"

A ray of light broke through the black, shot down from the heavens. Holloway screeched, dead hands flopping up into the air, blood gushing from their severed wrists, the shadows parting. A bright, glowing figure stood between the darkness and Heather. Angelic wings spread out. Silver armor shimmered.

Heather stared in awe, her mouth agape. "Eileen?" she said, her voice broken. "Is that really you?"

Eileen turned to her, smiled. "Of course it is, bitch," she said. "Of course it's me. Who else is gonna clean up your messes?" She paused, tapped her chin. "Actually . . . it's kind of my mess, ain't it?" She shook her head, held out her hand. "Come on, cuntarosa. One last thing to do."

Heather nodded, grabbed her hand, pulled herself up. A white aura enveloped her, restored her power. She clenched her fists, pink light surging around her. "That's it!" she said. "I'm back at full power. I can do this!"

"_We_ can do this," Eileen said, turning to the darkness. "That's right! I'm back, super bitch! And this time you're the one going down!"

"_**You!**_" Holloway screamed. "_**You're supposed to be dead! Your soul should be within Flauros!**_"

"Sorry," said Eileen. "Didn't take. Fairy princess, remember? We don't play by your rules—_you play by ours_!" She looked to Heather. "You ready?"

"Fuck yeah I'm ready."

The two girls stood side by side, hands intertwined. "We are the Sisters Heart!" Heather yelled, an orb of light forming before them, transforming into a massive, futuristic cannon. "The PH Krew!" Eileen shouted, pink light heating up inside the cannon. "And together," they said in unison, "no one can stand in our way! By the power of the heart and true love's light, _we're sending you back to hell_! **Super Duper Mega Awesome Love-Love Heart Cannon of Supreme Fuck-All Justice and Truth**!"

**! ****完全****愛****いつも****!**

A gigantic, enormous, absolutely colossal white heart of pure bliss and truth and justice shot from the cannon, totally overshadowing Holloway, completely swallowing her and her monstrous behemoth form whole. The light vanquished the darkness, cut through it, annihilated it, left nothing behind. The stormy, black sky disintegrated and fell apart. "_**No!**_" screamed Holloway, dissolving, disappearing. "_**WE . . . ARE . . . PERFECT**_—"

The heart exploded. Light engulfed New York City. Gradually it faded. Heather, Eileen, James, Elle, Mary, Claudia, and MacDonald stood alone in a vast wasteland of destroyed buildings, demolished cars, ruined streets. Skyscrapers lay in pieces. Massive, shattered monitors poked from rubble. All of it was leveled, all of it gone. The sky was cloudless and blue, the dark curtain that obscured it now dissipated.

Eileen helped Heather stand. The two girls regarded the carnage, the total destruction. "No," said Heather. "Damn it. It's all gone."

"Just like the demon world," Eileen said bitterly. "I was too late."

James spoke up behind them. "Eileen," he said, "how'd you come back? I saw you die."

"I'm a fairy princess," she said. "I went to the fairy kingdom instead of the afterlife. Alessa, Selina, and Arthur helped me get back here."

"Alessa?" said Heather.

"Yeah. She guided me through the demon world to the portal. But it's really the fairy queen I should be thanking." Eileen raised the morpher on her wrist. "She gave her life so that I could get mine back. And this Power Ranger thingamajig—it's all her power. It's 'cause of her that we even had a chance at stopping that thing."

"My mother," Heather said sadly. "My real mother. She was still looking out for me."

"She was looking out for all of us," Eileen said. "She believed in us." After a moment, Eileen looked over the group. "Henry?" she said. "Where is he? Shouldn't he be with you guys?"

Heather looked away. "He didn't make it. He saved me, but—I couldn't keep him alive."

Speechless, Eileen held up a hand to her chest, let out a moan. Elle similarly sobbed. "Alex, too," she said. "The general. Da Silva. They're all dead."

"I couldn't save anyone," Heather said. "After all that, I still couldn't save anyone."

"That's not true, Heather."

They all looked up, surprised by the voice. The sky dimmed, became golden. A radiant, glittering, winged figure floated down, followed by several others. The one in front, a woman, with long black hair and striking blue eyes, in an elegant, flowing white dress, a jeweled crown on her head, smiled.

"Alessa?" Eileen asked. "And Selina? Arthur?"

From within the troop of armed fairy guards, Selina poked her head out, as did Arthur. "The queen was watching your fight. She wanted to come down, so she brought us with her."

"That was quick," Eileen said, eyeing Alessa. "You cleaned up really well, that's for sure."

"Time is different in the Otherworld," Alessa said. "After our fight, I went back, assumed my role as queen. It's been hard without my mother, but I'm grieving. Maybe for the first time."

"Why are you here? I thought fairies weren't supposed to come down."

"Normally we wouldn't," said Alessa, "but you were right, Eileen. This isn't just a human problem. Flauros caused so much damage, absorbed so many souls. We—_I_—have a responsibility to make that right."

"How?" asked Heather. "You can bring them back?"

Alessa turned to the ruins of the city, gestured. Blue lights were starting to float up, slowly, lazily, towards the sky. "All the souls that Flauros consumed," she said. "Now that it's been destroyed, they're free. They'll go on to the light if we let them."

"Henry's in there, isn't he?" said Eileen. "Him and everyone else?"

Alessa nodded. "Yes. We shouldn't interfere, not typically—but this isn't typical. Eileen, let me have the device." Eileen handed over the morpher, and Alessa raised it up. "This is what's left of my mother—what's left of her soul, but it's also her power. All the magic she had accumulated over the years she reigned as queen. The magic of the Otherworld can be harnessed in any way imaginable. It's the power of thought, of desire, of feeling. If we want it to, it can make a miracle."

She closed her eyes. "Everyone, join your hands. Focus on the device." Heather and Eileen exchanged glances, then took each other's hands. James and Mary joined them, as did Claudia, Elle, and MacDonald. The fairies were next: Selina, Arthur, and the guards. They formed a circle with Alessa in the center, and they all closed their eyes. The morpher began to glow, to hum. A white aura soon surrounded it.

"Restore their lives," Alessa whispered. "Bring them back. Correct this mistake." She bowed her head, spoke quietly, so quietly no one could hear. "Please, Mother. Please fulfill this one last request."

The morpher floated up, glowing, radiating. Alessa let it go, and then everyone watched as it split into beams of light, countless of them, millions, all shooting off, one for each blue floating flicker. There were hordes of blue lights in the air now, and suddenly they were changing, the white beams rolling into them, taking on human shapes. People were appearing all across the ruined landscape, manifesting in bursts of light. They were dazed, confused, shell-shocked.

Heather watched with wide eyes, her thoughts turning to a new prospect. "Alessa," she said, "my dad—"

"Harry's gone, Heather," Alessa said gently, looking back at her. "He went on into the light. He's beyond us now."

"Oh." Heather's gaze fell. Suddenly she felt overcome by emotion, dizzy with sorrow. Suddenly she was crying, unable to stop, unable to compose herself, sobbing, heaving. Lights continued shimmering across the city, people kept appearing. And Alessa held the shaking girl in her arms, held her close, nestled her.

"I wish I could be here with you," she said softly. "I wish I could stay with you. But even though I can't, I'm still your sister, Cheryl. I'm still your family. I'll always be watching over you." She paused, pulled the girl closer. "I'll always love you."

Heather looked up at her. Alessa smiled, caressed her cheek, wiped away her tears. "Now I have to go back. The fairies need me. You . . . are not alone, Heather. You have all of these friends. You have so many people that love you. And you have this." She held Heather's hand, and the girl looked down at it, saw the pocket mirror clutched between the shimmering fingers.

"You are Princess Heart," Alessa said. "You have the power to do anything. You can withstand anything. Even if you're alone."

She stepped back, joined by Selina, Arthur, and the other fairies. "It's time for us to now," she announced. "This is where we part ways."

"Thank you," Eileen said. "All of you guys. Selina, Arthur, all the fairies. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Arthur said. "It'd be boring if we just let you guys die off."

"We'll always be here," said Selina. "We'll always be watching. We're here for you. Eileen . . . and Heather." She smiled at the girl. "Princess, we'll never let you down."

Heather sniffled, cleared her throat. She nodded and put on a smile. "Thanks, Selina."

"Alright," said Alessa. "In that case." The fairies floated up, their wings flapping. "You're not alone, Heather," she said one final time. "Don't forget that."

Heather nodded, drew a breath. As they disappeared into the golden light above, she looked down at the pocket mirror, contemplated it, felt its warmth.

* * *

Although New York City was virtually destroyed, the newly-revived Blackwood, awakening amid the rubble of the department store, was able to coordinate with military forces stationed on the outskirts of the city. Recovery efforts were vast and costly—much of New England had been affected by Flauros' rampage, and the revivals were so numerous that there were almost too many. Heather, Eileen, and the others accompanied a sweep through what was left of New York, eventually finding Alex and Da Silva, both of whom were dazed but still aware, able to recall everything up until the final moments prior to their deaths. Despite this, they were still missing Henry.

The whole group—Heather, Eileen, James, Mary, Alex, Elle, and Claudia—were in a jeep, hot air running through the open windows, the ride rocky. Exhaustion had shackled all of them, physical and mental, but there was a great relief between them, as well. Heather in particular was relieved most of all, leaning against Eileen's arm. They were alive. Everyone was alive. Flauros was dead, its host of demons vanquished. It hadn't been a clean victory—the wanton destruction and infrastructure damage was catastrophic, would no doubt take years and mountains of taxpayer dollars to even begin to remedy—but the immediate crisis was averted, and the casualties had been reduced to zero. Princess Heart had made a difference after all.

The jeep slowed down. Da Silva turned around in the passenger seat, called to the kids in the back. "Someone get up here and check this out. I think it's him."

Eileen jumped out of the vehicle, followed by James and Heather. Ahead of them, under the shade of a wrecked awning, was a young man, leather jacket crumpled up in his lap, his sleeves rolled up. Even from a distance, Eileen recognized the messy brown hair, the scruff, the cute nose. "Henry!" she shouted, running to him, laughing. The boy stood up, turned in her direction, yelped as she threw herself into his arms. "Oh my god, Henry! It's really you!"

"Eileen?" Henry stepped back, appraised her, broke into a huge smile. "Eileen, what the fuck? You're alive?"

"And you're alive!" she screamed, kissing him, embracing him. James and Heather caught up to them, the jeep coming up from behind.

"Thank God," James said. "We finally found you."

"Yeah," said Henry, "I was gonna ask—what the fuck happened? Last thing I remember, I had a goddamn knife-arm through my chest, and now—" He looked down at where the wound had been, shrugged. "Now there's just a giant headache."

"It's a long story," Heather said. "Important thing is, we won."

"Yeah, I gathered that much." Henry surveyed the war-torn city. "Jesus, though. Shit went down, didn't it?"

"It was a close one," Heather replied. "Let's just leave it at that."

"It was nothin'," Eileen said, squeezing Henry's arm. "As long as Heather and I are around, no bad guy stands a fucking chance."

"The PH Krew," Henry said with a chuckle, putting an arm around Eileen. "So, I guess everyone's back there?"

James nodded. "Yeah. It's time to go back home."

They returned to the jeep.

* * *

The next few days were a blur for Heather—soldiers and aid workers making repairs throughout Ashfield, coordinating civilians into modified shelters, disseminating rations and supplies. She spent a lot of it resting, recuperating, receiving bits of news from Claudia, Eileen, or Blackwood. The national emergency was over, and aid was spilling in from other countries. The rest of the country had been on high alert, with mobs forming in major cities, riots breaking out, mass evacuations taking place. Footage of the demons had been impossible to obtain because of the constant interference, but the reports of mass destruction had generated all sorts of rumors: terrorists, natural disasters, even extraterrestrials. With such widespread panic, even now it was difficult to reorganize society, to stabilize. But at least in Ashfield, progress was steady. Everyone kept by their families, their close friends, but Heather had no one—just Claudia, who stayed close—just Eileen, who made sure to spend with her as much time as possible.

There was a celebration one night, the lamps burning, the sky a dim, dark blue. Soldiers popping beers, trading tales. Barbecued meat on gas grills, ribs, steaks, chicken breasts. The families of the teenagers invited, given plates, allowed to talk, to relax, to ease. Heather watched from the sidelines, sweating from the humidity inside the tent, an electric fan whirring in every corner. There was James and Mary, and Claudia with them, using crutches, her leg in a brace. There was Alex and Elle and their family members. They were all enjoying themselves.

"Don't like to socialize?" Blackwood asked, coming up beside her.

She glanced at him, shrugged. "Eh. I just don't really feel like it."

"I understand. It's hard to see this when you know there's so much more to do."

"I guess things are pretty bad out there, huh?" Heather said.

"It's logistics," said Blackwood. "Millions of people displaced, many of them homeless—it's a puzzle that needs solving. And solving it requires manpower, time, some luck." He sighed. "I'll be heading out, myself. We'll be leaving behind squadrons to help with repairs, but the war, for all intents and purposes, is over."

"The war," Heather said. "Funny way to put it."

"Isn't it one, though? Not against a country, not against a people, but an entire species. A direct attack on humanity—on life itself."

"It's not the demons' fault," said Heather. "They're just animals, you know. It's always the people behind 'em. They're the ones you gotta worry about." She turned to Blackwood. "And believe me, man, there are more of them out there. This isn't the end."

"It's never the end," Blackwood said. "It just goes on, Miss Mason, even without us. I learned that firsthand." He turned away, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for what you've done. The people will know. They won't know it's you—they won't know Heather Mason, they won't know the person behind the symbol—but they'll know Princess Heart. And that will just have to be enough."

He walked out of the tent. Heather did the same a minute later, grabbing a soda, removing the top. It felt like an eternity since she had last seen stars, had last seen real, authentic clouds. It was just another cool night now, another dying summer evening. She went back to the familiar railing, tipped the soda to her lips. Absently, she fingered the pendant her father had given her, lost herself to the darkening horizon.

"Guess it's no surprise you're out here." Henry smirked, leaned against the railing, glanced at her sideways. He raised a beer, drank from it, scowled. "Shit's gross. No idea how you guys can take it." He turned the bottle over, watched it spill out over the side. "See? A lot better."

"You come to check up on me?" she asked. "I'm fine, Townshend."

"Nah. I thought maybe I'd get you to eat some more of your words about how I'm this huge dickbag asshole."

"In your dreams." She smiled. "I thought we were gonna die, okay? I just wanted to clear the air before anything happened."

"Hell, I _did_ die," Henry said. His smirk fell; his eyes grew distant. "The headache's gone, but I remember everything. The rain. The numbness. Feeling just—this warmness coming out of you." He paused. "I remember you, too. I remember telling you not to give up, and I guess you didn't."

"I almost did," Heather said. "I was this close to just lying down there on the street and letting it end. I really was." She looked at him. "What, no smartass comment? You're not gonna tell me I was being a weak-ass?"

"You were being a weak-ass," he said, "but I get it. Jesus, I mean, I've been there, too. It's fucking hard to believe, you know? You and James and everyone else was just throwing it around, making it seem like it was the easiest thing, but when you're down there, and people are dying, getting ripped apart, getting blown up, what else is there? All you see is that. Just fucking senseless violence. Just all this death. How do you _believe_ when you see that shit? How do you fucking sleep at night?"

He let out a sigh, rubbed his eyes. "See, I was hard on you because you could do something about it. These things we can't control, that we can't fight—Princess Heart _can_ control, she _can_ fight. She doesn't play by the same rules. And that's fucking bugged me so much. Shit was going down, people were dying, and you . . . you would just sit there, you know? You would just bitch and moan and ask why it was you and not someone else."

Heather was silent, looking away.

"But I honestly never thought about it," Henry went on. "What you felt, what you were going through—it didn't even register. And that's what _I_ have to apologize for, Mason. I _was_ an asshole to you. I don't deny that. End of the day, I was mad I didn't have the same opportunity. It just seemed so easy. Punch some monsters in the face, fly around, shoot lasers. Man, you could do it in your sleep."

"It's not _that_ easy," Heather said quietly, smiling lightly. "At first it was fun. It was like playing a videogame. Then it got worse. It got more dangerous. And before I knew it, people I loved were getting pulled in. First it was Eileen, then all you guys. Then it was my dad." She stopped, cleared her throat. "Now the whole damn world's at stake. Now you can't go outside without thinking there's always more you can do. Always more people you can save, and—you just can't save them."

"You can't," Henry said. "You watch 'em go in your dreams over and over. How many times have I seen that goddamn subway? And every time it's the same. You're always too late, or too weak. God, you know—after what that bitch did to Eileen, I couldn't think about anything else. Fucking world was falling down around me, and I just kept seeing her face, her eyes. I still do. I have to hug her, touch her hair, do something to remind me that, for once, I woke up. I got out of a nightmare, not into one."

"What do you do when it doesn't end, though?" asked Heather. "What happens when it just . . . keeps going? How do you deal with that?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. You just have to make room for it. You just . . . find something else to keep you going. But it can't be anger. It can't be revenge. Back when all this shit started, I mean, I didn't give a rat's ass what happened to me. I was ready to die. I didn't want to, it wasn't a suicidal, but if it happened, I mean, whatever. I didn't care. I wasn't losing anything, and no one was losing me. But something changed. You know what I was feeling on that rooftop, looking up at you? I was fucking scared. I didn't want to die. I didn't want to leave this. All the anger, the attitude—it just didn't matter anymore."

"That's the problem," Heather said. "I don't have the anger anymore, either. But it's not better. It's just gotten older . . . harder. When I was down there, ready to give up, I honestly thought, shit, I can see him again. I can see my dad. I can see my sister. I don't have to _deal_ with it anymore. I don't have to wonder about what the hell I'm doing, or what I have to feel guilty about. I don't have to worry about what I'm gonna eat, when I'm gonna wake up, what I'm gonna wear. There's just nothing. No worries. Just everything good without the bad."

She smiled. "But then someone started talking to me. It was you, Henry, telling me to stop being such a little bitch. And then it was my dad. I swear to God I could see him. It's like he was down there with me, keeping me going."

"I'm flattered, Mason," Henry said, "but that wasn't me. I wasn't some ghost coming to talk to you. I was gone. Probably somewhere in that demon's ass crack." He grinned. "Fuck, maybe it was your heart."

"My heart?"

"Yeah. Your spirit or something—the part of you that knows you can make it. Your inner willpower or some shit like that." He shrugged again. "It was just _you_, Mason. It wasn't me or your dad. It was just . . . you. You kept yourself going."

They didn't say anything else for a long time, the laughter behind them muffled, the sky now black, but this time dotted with stars. "Henry," said Heather at last. "Thank you."

"Nah," Henry said. "I didn't do a thing, Cheryl. I'm just a dipshit teen." He turned around. "Well, I'm going back. You coming?"

"I'm gonna stay out here a little longer."

He nodded, went on his way. She kept her eyes on the stars above, trying to look beyond them, trying to picture a heaven, if there even was one. A place of beauty, of peace. Of bright, clear mornings. Of nice, cool nights. Somewhere up there, she knew, her sister was looking down at her. Somewhere up there her father watched over her.

But it wasn't time to go to them. Not for a while yet.

She turned away from the stars and headed towards another light.

**END EPISODE 06**

**There is a light, and it never goes out.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	7. Epilogue

_. . . And that was that. To thank us all for helping, the government put aside some special housing for everyone. Henry's family was set up pretty nice, and his dad came out of the hospital okay. Since USM got curbstomped, he and Eileen had to start looking for somewhere else to go to school . . . after things had cooled down a bit._

_James stayed around in Ashfield, helping the military with repairs. Alex's family took in Elle and her sister. I don't think Elle told her about what happened to their mom—I wouldn't have, either. I think they're getting by okay, the last I heard._

_Da Silva went back home to Arkansas, I think to make sure her family was okay. I never saw the general after that night in the tent. I'm guessing he went off somewhere, maybe the Middle East or something. Wherever there's a war, people dying, getting blown apart, I guess you'll find the guy. Waxing poetic or whatever._

_As for me and Clau, well, everyone wants a piece of Princess Heart now that she's officially saved the world twice. We struck a deal with the U.S.—they keep our identities and our friends' secret, under wraps, and I help out in return if they really, really need some ass-kicking. They moved us out to Washington D.C., let us choose this sick apartment. The whole thing's been pretty awesome, honestly—I had lunch with the president and everything in the Rose Garden. I think I heard about some cartoon or movie in the works. I dunno. Next thing you know, I'll be seeing little mini Heathers at Wal-Mart._

_Things are cool with Claudia. We haven't really talked about it yet, but I'm trying not to freak her out. I feel responsible for her, kind of—like I've got to stick with her. I mean, we don't really have anyone else. I hope she'll be okay. I hope _I'll_ be okay._

_I think I will, though. The pain's still there. I still have the dreams every now and then. But Dad and Alessa—they're up there, looking out for me. And even if they're not, they're in my heart. That's enough._

* * *

"Remember, Chip? This is the old house. You remember, boy?" Eileen stood in the middle of her old living room, the dog in her arms, his tail wagging excitedly. Although the home had been spared any real damage during the demonic invasion, much of the furniture had been removed, and the walls, once covered with family pictures, were bare.

"Yeah, you remember," she said, the pale light of the afternoon across her face. "I remember, too. This is where I grew up."

Outside, Henry sat alongside James on the porch. There was a cool breeze. The leaves on the trees were starting to yellow, starting to turn orange. "Autumn's coming early," James said. "So much for seeing the leaves at USM."

Henry grunted, lowered the camera. "You can see leaves wherever you go. Besides, Portland's ass, remember? Maybe everything happened so we wouldn't have to go."

"Maybe. High price just for that, though."

"Couldn't be higher." Henry sighed, scratched his chin. "The butterflies aren't out today, I guess. That sucks—I wanted to take some pictures, just for old times' sake."

"We had some good times, didn't we?" James asked. "It's hard to believe it's all changing. Our old homes, our old lives—it's all going to be different."

"Duty calls," Henry said. "You get to decide, Jamesy. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do—all on some poor asshole's tab."

They laughed. "I guess I can't complain about taxes," said James.

"Nope."

"They're paying us to have faith. You realize that?"

"Oh, yeah. And believe me, I'll believe. I'll fucking believe in whatever they want me to. Hell, how couldn't you? Think of all the shit we've seen, James. Just last year we wouldn't have had a single goddamn idea about what was about to happen."

James shook his head. "Things worked out, though. Think about it—after all that, we're actually in the clear. We're actually doing pretty well."

"Those of us who lived," Henry said. "If it brought back the people that died . . . yeah, I'd give it up. I'd give it up in a heartbeat."

Eileen came out onto the porch, yawned. "Whatcha guys talking about?" she asked, plopping down between them, slinging her arms around their necks. "A new adventure?"

"Only adventure I want," said Henry, "is taking a nap. Man, I'm tired."

"It probably is time for us to get back," James said, standing. "I'll go get the car ready."

"We'll be right there," Henry said, shutting off his camera. He watched James walk to the car, then turned to Eileen, looked into her eyes. "You ready?"

She smiled, squeezed his arm. "Yeah. I'm ready."

They got up, followed James to the car. "Come on, Chip!" Eileen cried, and the dog came running out of the house, yipping happily. They got in, drove off, and headed towards the future.

* * *

"Hey, Heather? You awake?"

Claudia walked into the apartment, bright light coming through the balcony doors, the television in the den turned on to some cartoons. She set down her bag of groceries, removed her beret. The lush, beige carpet, the clean white walls, the sleek, spacious kitchen—it still overwhelmed her from time to time. It seemed so unbelievable, so unreal, but it _was_ real. It was her new reality—her new life.

"Clau?" Heather came into the den, toweling her hair dry, in a tank top and short shorts. "You get my Lucky Charms?" she asked.

"They're right here," Claudia said, bringing them out of the bag.

"Sweet! Can't get up without 'em."

Claudia smiled, turned to the refrigerator to start putting the groceries away. "I was thinking we could go take a walk today—go exploring. We haven't really gotten to see the city much."

"Sounds good," Heather said, grabbing a bowl from a cupboard. "Can you hand me the milk?"

"Sure." Claudia took out the carton, ready to pass it over, when a phone rang.

They both froze, turned around. At the far end of the kitchenette, a candy pink brick phone buzzed in its cradle, blared out its ring. "A first time for everything, I guess," Heather said. "I wasn't expecting it so soon, though."

Claudia stared at it anxiously. "Are you going to answer it?"

"I have to," Heather said simply, striding over. She gave Claudia a reassuring smile. "It's no biggie. It's just who I am. After all"—she picked up the phone, held it to her ear, grinned—"this is Princess Heart speaking."

_**fin**_

**And it's over! For those of you who've read through the entire Princess Heart saga, thank you so much for your time, dedication, and readership. For a long time I had decided against continuing the story, but sometimes you just don't have a choice in the matter. The story dictates, and you just listen and hope you can get it down as well and as accurately as you can.**

**That said, this is the real end of Heather's whimsical adventures. It was a blast to reinterpret the universe of **_**Silent Hill**_** for this story, but it became so much than a simple fanfiction by the end. These are real characters, with real lives, with real hopes and dreams. I hope that some of that came through despite the zaniness. I tried to do them justice.**

**What's left for Heather, Eileen, and their friends? I'd wager a different type of light—a future full of living. Now slap on Warpaint's "Love is to Die," followed by Foxes' "Count the Saints," maybe some Sinead Harnett, and go on living!**

**And, again, thanks.**

**(DISCLAIMER: **_**Silent Hill**_** and all related materials are the property of Konami and their respective copyright holders. No profit is made from this work.)**


	8. Coda

The shed stank with blood and piss. Flies buzzed around, maggots crawled along the dirt floor. The body had been for at least a couple of days, had dried out, had grown dark and dry from the heavy heat. The long gash going down the sternum, down the middle of the stomach. The entrails spilling out. The blank, vacant eyes. The stringy, hard hair. The shredded red dress.

Anne grimaced, leaned out of the shed, closed the door. "That's him, alright," she said, sliding off her sunglasses. "Right down the middle. Just like the others."

"Damn," Cartland said, taking off his hat and wiping his brow. It was unbearably hot out here. The Louisiana sun hung low; crickets sang; dragonflies darted through the air. "We were close. I know we had him in Galveston."

"You think he's on to us?"

"No." Cartland rubbed his gray beard, spat. "No, he doesn't know. It wouldn't matter even if he did. He's just killing." He went to the shed, peeked inside. "Poor girl. Probably just the wrong place at the wrong time. Too late at a bar. By herself."

Anne let out a breath, hands on hips, eyes fixed on the tall grass. "We make Pendleton look again," she said after a pause. "It's the only way."

Cartland looked at her, then looked at their car on the other side of the road. He sighed.

"What?" said Anne. "Come on, who gives a shit. He's just as bad."

"We put him in that monster's head again," Cartland said, "and who knows if we'll get him back. Remember what he said last time? Rust and gears—machinery. Those women carved up? The giant with the metal on his face, the cleaver?"

"What else do you suggest?" asked Anne. "He _has_ to go in."

Cartland considered it, sighing again. He headed for the car.

Opening the door, he regarded the tired, exhausted man inside. His hair was disheveled, his shirt sweaty, his jeans torn. "Murphy," said Cartland quietly. "Murphy, can you hear me?"

"What is it?" asked Pendleton slowly, rousing. "What?"

"You have to go back in," Cartland said. "You have to."

Pendleton looked away, closed his eyes, winced. "Please," he said. "Please, you don't understand. You weren't there."

"Murphy—"

"You weren't there!" he cried. "You didn't see what he did to them—how he was putting them up on hooks like they were pieces of meat! God—you didn't see . . . you didn't see my boy . . . He was there in the water . . ."

"Murphy?"

"I can't," said Pendleton after a moment, breathing deeply. "I won't."

Outside, Anne groaned. "Goddamn it, Pendelton," she said loudly, going around to the other side of the car and dragging him out. "You want to see our friend's handiwork?"

"Please," moaned Pendleton. "Please, I'm begging you—"

"Tell it to the fucking frogs," said Anne, opening the shed door and holding Pendleton to the darkness, the stench, the heat. "Feel that," she said. "Smell it. _That's_ the Butcher. That's what he's doing out here, in the real world, in fucking reality. Not in whatever messed-up dream world you happen to be able to stumble into. Are you fucking hearing me? Are you registering what I'm saying?"

"You don't—you don't understand," Pendleton said, staring with dead eyes at the mutilated girl. "This is . . . this is _nothing_ compared to what's in there."

"Oh, I understand," she said, kneeling down beside him, "I understand completely. That's why you have to go in. Because whatever's the dream, well—who's going to keep it from becoming real? _This_ is real, Pendleton. And if we don't catch him, he's going to kill again. And again. And again."

Pendleton closed his eyes, her words biting hard, digging deep. He saw his son again, emerging from the waterlogged bag, the police obscuring his form. He saw the catwalks, the enormous machines, the pipes and tubes full of blood and fat. He saw the gigantic blood-stained cleaver, heard it screech against the scaffolding.

He opened his eyes.

". . . Alright," he said. "Alright. I'll do it."

Anne nodded. "Okay. So let's go."

**?**


End file.
